SWEET 
ROCKET 


MARY 
JOHNSTON 


SWEET    ROCKET 


BOOKS  BY 
MARY  JOHNSTON 

SWEET  ROCKET 

MICHAEL  FORTH 

FOES 

SIR  MORTIMER 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS.  NEW  YORK 

ESTABLISHED  1817 


SWEET 
ROCKET 


by 

MARY  JOHNSTON 

AUTHOR  OF 

"SIR  MORTIMER"  "MICHAEL  FORTH" 
"TO  HAVE  AND  TO  HOLD"  "FOBS"  ETC. 


Harper  &.  Brothers  Publishers 
New  York  and   London 


SWEET  ROCTET 

Copyright,  19*o,  by  Mary  Johnston 

Printed  In  the  United  States  of  America 

Published  October,  1920 

I-U 


SWEET    ROCKET 


r~PHE  woman  driving  turned  the  phaeton  from 
1  the  highway  into  a  narrow  road.  Almost 
immediately  the  forest  through  which  they  had 
been  passing  for  a  mile  or  more  deepened.  It 
was  now  a  rich  woodland,  little  cut,  seldom 
touched  by  fire.  Apparently  the  road  knew 
little  use.  Narrow  and  in  part  grass-grown, 
soft  from  yesterday's  rain,  dimmed  by  many 
trees,  now  it  bent  and  now  it  ran  straight,  a 
dun  streak,  cut  always  in  front  by  that  ancient, 
exquisite  screen  of  bough  and  leaf.  The  high- 
way dropped  out  of  sight  and  mind.  The 
woman  to  whom  this  countryside  was  new, 
sitting  beside  the  woman  driving,  drew  a  breath 
of  pleasure.  "Oh,  smell  it!  It  goes  over  you 
like  balm!" 

"It  washes  the  travel  stains  away.  Take  off 
your  hat." 

The  other  obeyed,  turning  and  placing  it  upon 
the  back  seat  beside  a  large  and  a  small  traveling 
bag.  She  drew  off  her  gloves,  too,  then,  straight- 


2225266 


SWEET   ROCKET 

ening  herself,  sighed  again  with  happiness. 
"How  deep  it  goes  .  .  .  and  quiet!  It's  thou- 
sands of  miles  away ! " 

"Hundreds  of  thousands,  and  right  at  hand!" 

Leaves  were  beginning  to  turn.  Maples  had 
lighted  fires,  hickories  were  making  gold,  dog- 
wood and  sumac  dyeing  with  crimson.  Iron- 
weed,  yet  blooming,  blotched  the  roadside  with 
purple.  Joe-pye  lifted  heads  of  ashy  pink,  gold- 
enrod  started  forth,  in  places  farewell-summer 
made  a  low  mist  of  lilac.  The  road  dipped  into 
a  dell.  The  gray  horse,  the  phaeton,  crossed  a 
brown  streamlet,  sliding,  murmuring.  Mint 
filled  the  air.  The  road  lifted  and  ran  on  again 
into  mystery.  Blackbirds  flew  across,  a  wood- 
pecker tapped  and  tapped,  a  squirrel  ran  up  an 
oak.  But  for  all  of  faint,  stealthy  rustle,  per- 
petual low  sound  and  small  movements  without 
end,  deep,  deep,  deep  rest  was  the  note.  Rest 
and  solitude. 

The  old,  strong,  gray  horse  was  named 
Daniel.  This  was  his  road  since  he  was  a  colt. 
Sometimes  he  might  find  upon  it  Whitefoot  and 
Bess,  the  farm  horses,  drawing  the  farm  wagon, 
but  oftenest  it  was  solitary  like  this — his  road — 
Sweet  Rocket  road.  The  phaeton  moving  its 
wheels  rolled  it,  droned  it  forth — "  Sweet  Rocket 
road — Sweet  Rocket  road." 

"There  are  five  miles  of  it,"  said  Marget. 
Her  tone  added,  "I  love  it — its  solitariness,  its 
ownness!" 


SWEET  ROCKET 

"It's  miraculously  beautiful,"  answered  her 
companion.  "It  aches,  it  is  so  beautiful ! ' ' 

"Sweet  Rocket  road — Sweet  Rocket  road," 
said  the  wheels.  "Way  to  Sweet  Rocket — way 
to  Sweet  Rocket." 

"It  is  straight  and  single-minded  as  an  arrow. 
No  one  goes  but  one  who  wishes  to  travel  to 
Sweet  Rocket.  It  is  our  road  in  and  our  road 
out.  There  seems  to  be  no  other." 

"'Seems'?" 

"I  mean  that  it  is  the  only  road  made  with 
spade  and  pick." 

They  traveled  again  in  silence.  The  visitor 
sat,  a  small,  elderly  woman,  with  a  thin,  strong, 
intelligent  face.  Something  about  her,  alike  of 
strength  and  of  limitation,  said,  "Teacher  for 
long  years."  She  sat  with  her  hands  in  her  lap, 
looking  at  that  truly  beautiful  road  and  the 
forest  walls.  But  at  last  with  a  sigh  of  appre- 
ciation she  turned  to  talk.  "Twenty  years  and 
more  since  we  last  met!  But  you  keep  young, 
Marget.  I  had  no  difficulty  in  picking  you  out 
of  the  station  crowd." 

"Nor  I  you,  dear  Miss  Darcy!  But  then 
I've  always  kept  you  in  mind  and  heart.  I  owe 
you  so  much!" 

"Ah,  Marget,  not  much!" 

"  I  o  we  you  1  earning.  It  is  a  good  deal  to  take 
a  country  girl,  charge  scarcely  anything  for  her 
and  see  that  she  gets  knowledge  and  learns  how 
to  get  more — and  more — " 

3 


SWEET  ROCKET 

"You  are  of  those  who  reward  teaching. 
Don't  let  us  talk  about  that  which  was  neither 
load  nor  task  and  so  is  no  debt.  The  'now' 
interests  me.  You  look  well.  Your  face  is  a 
rose  under  clear  brown." 

"lam  well." 

"And  happy?" 

"Yes,  happy." 

"I  know  that  you  couldn't  be  happy  unless 
you  were  helping." 

"I  don't  know  how  much  I  help.  I  help 
some." 

"You  were  never  given  to  long  letters.  There 
really  is  much  that  I  don't  at  all  know  about 
you!  And  such  as  they  are,  I  have  had  very 
few  letters  of  late  years.  It  was  the  sheerest 
accident  my  finding  out  that  this  was  your  part 
of  the  country.  I  might  have  gone  to  the  Con- 
ference and  never  known  that  you  were  not 
twenty  miles  away!" 

"The  day  before  I  had  your  card  I  knew  that 
something  pleasant  was  going  to  happen." 

"Well,  tell  me  what  you  do— 

Marget  Land  looked  over  Daniel's  ears,  down 
the  vista  of  the  road.  At  this  point  hemlocks 
grew  to  either  hand,  cones  of  a  green  that  was 
almost  black.  Between  rose  sycamores  with  pale 
arms  and  leaves  like  silky  brown  hair.  At  the 
road  edge  the  farewell-summer  made  a  lace- 
work,  and  above  it  glowed  the  sumac  torches. 
Blue  sky  roofed  the  autumn  earth.  The  air 

4 


SWEET  ROCKET 

just  flowed,  neither  hot  nor  cold,  milk  warm, 
happy.  Summer  and  winter  had  made  a  bar- 
gain, struck  a  compromise,  achieved  a  diagonal. 
Gold  autumn,  crimson  autumn,  violet  autumn, 
dusky  and  tawny  autumn — autumn  balm — 
autumn  drawn  up  into  a  gracious  figure — Keats's 
autumn — a  goddess ! 

She  drew  a  light,  sighing  breath.  "I  told  you 
that  I  was  happy.  .  .  .  Isn't  it  strange — living? 
Isn't  it  strange  and  sweet  the  way  things  come 
about?  There's  magic,  all  right!  Sweet  Rocket. 
...  I  was  born  in  the  overseer's  house  at  Sweet 
Rocket.  That  was  ten  years  after  the  war  and 
there  wasn't  much  nor  many  for  my  father  to 
oversee.  I  love  my  father.  He  was  what  the 
mountain  folk  call  'a  getter-on.'  He  had  ability 
and  a  lot  of  goodness  and  a  lot  of  kindness. 
Education  from  books  had  not  come  his  way, 
but  he  knew  many  things.  He  had  worked  hard 
and  saved,  and  after  the  war,  when  he  gave  up 
overseeing,  or  it  gave  him  up,  and  when  he  turned 
merchant  in  Alder,  over  there,  he  made  money 
— as  we  looked  at  it  in  Virginia  in  those  days. 
Some  money,  that  is.  He  had  ten  thousand  dol- 
lars in  bank  when  old  Major  Linden  died,  and 
Mary  Linden  married  and  went  away,  and  Sweet 
Rocket  was  sold  for  debt.  He  bought  it — though 
he  kept  a  steady  face,  he  was  so  proud  to  buy 
it!  I  was  nine  years  old  when  we  moved  out 
of  the  overseer's  house  into  the  big  house — my 
mother,  my  father,  my  two  brothers,  and  I.  I 

5 


SWEET  ROCKET 

loved  it,  loved  it,  loved  it — love  it,  love  it, 
love  it!" 

"I  remember  the  very  way  in  which  you  used 
to  say  it,  'Sweet  Rocket!" 

"We  became  at  once  land  poor.  And  my 
father  had  an  illness,  and,  though  he  seemed  to 
recover,  never  did  quite  recover.  When  it 
came  to  choosing  and  bargaining,  making  and 
laying  by,  he  was  never  again  the  man  he  had 
been.  My  mother,  too,  who  had  worked  so 
hard  when  she  was  young — too  hard — began  to 
fail.  Will,  my  elder  brother,  went  West. 
Edgar,  the  younger,  wanted  to  go,  too.  He 
did  not  like  it  here.  You  see  .  .  .  every  one 
still  said:  'The  old  overseer  bought  it.  They 
were  all  born  in  the  overseer's  house.  Now 
they  rattle  around  in  the  Lindens'  house!  Bot- 
tom rail — !'  It  was  still  called  'the  Linden 
place.'  As  I  grew  old  enough  to  have  cared  for 
what  they  said  I  somehow  escaped  caring.  But 
Edgar  cared.  It  was  hard  on  the  boy.  .  .  .  But  I 
loved  Sweet  Rocket,  loved  it,  love  it !  I  love  the 
overseer's  house  and  the  big  house — which  isn't, 
of  course,  very  big,  for  the  place  was  always  a 
simple  one — simple  and  still  and  out  of  the 
way!" 

She  seemed  to  pause  somewhat  deeply  to 
vision  something  within.  Miss  Darcy  watched 
the  moving  walls,  now  standing  close,  now  a 
little  receding,  now  opening  as  it  were  into 
gateways  through  which  were  seen  forest  lawns 

6 


SWEET  ROCKET 

and  aisles.  They  shut  in  again.  A  golden 
bough  brushed  the  phaeton.  She  who  had  been 
speaking  put  out  her  hand  and  touched  it. 
"How  could  one  help  but  love  it?  To  me  it  is 
forever  so  old  and  forever  so  new!  I  lock  with 
it.  ...  What  was  I  saying?  Well,  Edgar  did  not 
like  it,  and  my  mother  failed,  and  father  had 
less  money  and  less  money — and  still  we  went 
on  ...  five  years,  eight  years,  ten  years.  Then 
in  one  year  my  father  died  and  my  mother  died. 
.  .  .  Will  came  home.  He  and  Edgar  said  that 
we  must  sell  Sweet  Rocket.  I  wasn't  eighteen. 
We  knew  about  the  mortgage,  but  we  didn't 
know  about  some  other  debts.  When  it  was 
sold  there  was  hardly  anything  to  divide  among 
us—" 

''The  Lindens  didn't  buy  it  back,  then?" 

"No,  not  then.  Northern  people  bought  it. 
Will  went  back  to  Wyoming,  and  Edgar  with 
him.  I  went  to  my  mother's  sister — Aunt  Hes- 
ter— who  lived  in  Richmond.  I  went  to  her  with 
my  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a  year.  She's 
one  of  the  best  of  women.  I  never  had  any- 
thing but  kindness  from  her — and  one  of  the 
greatest  was  when  she  spoke  of  me  to  you!" 

She  put  her  hand  over  Miss  Darcy 's  hand.  ' '  I 
had  been  to  school  a  little,  of  course.  There  were 
some  books  at  home,  and  I  had  borrowed  where 
I  could.  But  in  Richmond,  to  you,  I  really 
began  to  go  to  school." 

"You  studied  as  very  few  study,  Marget. 

7 


SWEET  ROCKET 

You  studied  as  though  waves  of  things  were 
coming  happily  back  into  memory." 

"Yes.  But  you  released  something.  Always 
fire  is  lit  from  fire.  Always  one  comes  to  any 
that  sit  in  darkness.  .  .  .  Well,  I  went  to  school 
for  three  years.  Then  off  you  go  from  that 
school  to  Canada,  to  England,  to  I  don't  know 
where!  I  stayed  in  Richmond  and  went  to  a 
business  school.  I  learned  typewriting  and 
stenography.  I  began  to  earn  my  living." 

"You  were  with  Baker  and  Owen?" 

"Yes.  And  then  I  passed  into  library  work. 
I  went  to  Washington.  I  was  in  the  library 
there  for  five  years.  I  saved.  I  wrote  a  few 
papers  that  were  published.  I  took  what  they 
brought  me  and  what  I  had  saved,  and  I  left 
the  library  and  I  went  around  the  world,  second 
class  and  third  class — and  at  times  fourth — and 
I  learned  and  enjoyed.  I  taught  English  here 
and  there,  and  so  I  paid  as  I  went.  I  came 
back  in  four  years — back  to  Richmond  and 
Aunt  Hester,  until  I  might  look  about  me  and 
see  what  I  could  do,  for  I  must  earn." 

"If  you  had  written  to  me  then  in  New 
York—" 

"I  felt  that.  But  there  is  something — don't 
you  know  there  is  something? — that  guides  us. 
...  I  lay  one  night  thinking  of  Sweet  Rocket.  I 
could  always  come  back  here,  just  as  really — 
come  back  from  the  ends  of  the  earth!  I  came 
back  often.  There  has  always  been,  along  the 


SWEET  ROCKET 

garden  wall,  sweet  rocket — dame's  violet,  you 
know.  Some  of  it  is  white  and  some  is  purple — 
shining  clusters  growing  above  your  waist.  I 
could  gather  them  in  my  arms  and  feel  them 
against  my  cheek.  I  could  get  into  the  dark 
cedars  that  come  up  from  the  river.  I  lay  in 
Richmond,  more  than  half  feeling,  more  than 
half  seeing.  .  .  .  There's  a  country,  you  know, 
out  of  which  things  come  down  to  you.  ...  It 
came  down — knowledge!  I  meant  to  go  back 
to  Sweet  Rocket." 

She  paused.    "Look  at  that  tree — " 

"It  is  so  splendid!  A  sugar  maple,  isn't  it? 
And  that  one?" 

"Mountain  linden.  It  puts  on  a  clear,  pale 
gold,  like  the  old  saints'  haloes." 

"I  hear  water." 

"It  is  the  little  stream  that  we  cross.  See 
how  sweet  and  clear  and  sounding  it  goes! 
Hemlock  Run.  All  right,  Daniel!" 

Daniel  bent  mouth  to  water  and  drank. 

"No  check  rein?" 

"No." 

Gray  horse  and  old  phaeton  moved  again. 
The  wood  grew  richer  and  deeper.  "We  are 
nearing  the  river." 

"And  then,  in  Richmond,  you  heard  about 
Sweet  Rocket?" 

"Aunt  Hester  had  a  letter  from  Alder.  Rich- 
ard Linden,  old  Major  Linden's  nephew,  had 
bought  Sweet  Rocket.  I  was  glad  that  some  one 

9 


SWEET  ROCKET 

who  must  love  it  was  there.  Aunt  Hester  said 
that  he  had  visited  it  once  or  twice  as  a  young 
boy.  He  would  remember  it  then  as  I  remem- 
bered it.  The  second  letter  said  that  he  was 
almost  blind,  and  alone  on  the  place  save  for 
the  colored  people.  Then  I  saw  his  advertise- 
ment in  the  Richmond  papers.  He  wanted  a 
secretary,  one  who  could  read  aloud  well.  So 
I  answered,  and  was  taken — five  years  ago." 

"How  old  a  man  is  he?" 

"He  is  forty-seven  and  I  am  forty-four." 

"You  have  inner  youth — higher  youth." 

"Yes.     Childhood  there.     So  has  he." 

"Do  you  love  him,  Marget?" 

"Love  him?  Yes!  But  not  the  once-time 
way,  if  that  is  what  you  mean.  As  he  loves  me, 
but  not  the  once-time  way.  So  we  shall  not 
marry,  in  the  once-time  way.  But  we  live  here 
together  all  the  same." 

"Well,  if  it  is  as  fair  as  this  road — " 

"It  is  just  a  simple  house  in  the  bent  arm  of 
a  little  river  and  with  hills  all  around,  and  behind 
the  hills,  mountains.  There  are  fields  and  an 
orchard  and  garden.  It  is  hidden  like  a  lost 
place,  and  happy  like  a  place  for  evermore  find- 
ing itself." 

"Tell  me  about  Mr.  Linden." 

"No,  let  us  wait  for  that.  Or  I  can  tell  out- 
ward things — how  we  live?" 

"Yes." 

"He   has   only   a   small,    fixed   income.     It 

IO 


SWEET  ROCKET 

wouldn't  at  all  go  round  the  year,  so  we  farm. 
We  have  an  excellent  man,  Roger  Carter,  who 
lives  in  the  overseer's  house.  Wheat,  corn, 
buckwheat,  hay,  and  apples !  So  we  live  and  can 
buy — though  with  an  elegant  spareness — books 
and  red-seal  Victor  records  and  more  and  more 
flowers  for  the  flower  garden." 

"Of  course  you  have  help  about  the  house?" 

"There  are  two  colored  men  and  a  boy,  and 
Mirny  the  cook  and  Zinia  the  housemaid.  But 
with  the  home  garden  and  cornfield  and  orchard 
and  the  two  cows  and  the  chickens  and  ducks 
and  Daniel  and  Whitefoot  and  Bess  there  is 
more  than  enough  to  do.  You  will  be  surprised 
to  see  how  much  he  does  himself." 

"How  can  he  see?" 

"He  can  tell  light  from  darkness,  and  the  dim 
mass  of  things.  And  then,  when  you  are  blind, 
you  grow  so  skillful  with  the  other  senses!  And 
of  course  in  a  measure  all  of  us  are  eyes  to  him. 
He  has  a  great,  strong  body.  He  hoes  and  digs. 
He  knows  always  what  is  beneath  his  fingers. 
He  can  weed  a  garden  as  well  as  I  can.  He 
gathers  fruit  and  berries  and  vegetables  and 
knows  the  perfect  from  the  imperfect.  He  does 
no  end  of  things.  Perhaps  he  may  work  with 
his  hands  four  hours  a  day." 

"And  then?" 

"There  are  letters.  I  write  them,  and  I  keep 
his  accounts,  and,  of  course,  the  house.  Then 
we  read.  It  is  a  sandwiched  business,  but  we 

ii 


SWEET  ROCKET 

must  average  three  hours  a  day  with  books. 
He  gets  up  very  early  and  walks  before  break- 
fast, and  usually  again  in  the  afternoon.  Some- 
times I  drive  him  on  this  road.  Sometimes  I 
walk  with  him,  sometimes  he  goes  alone.  After 
supper  we  read,  or  listen  to  the  Victor  singing 
and  playing,  or  we  talk,  or  sit  by  the  fire,  still 
and  thinking.  Or  on  the  porch  steps  when 
weather  is  warm,  where  I  can  see  and  he  can 
image  the  stars." 

"I  see  a  good  life." 

"We  are  not  without  neighbors,  though  it 
seems  so  lonely.  And  then  folk  come  to  us. 
His  blindness  was  an  accident,  you  know.  He 
has  had  lif e  in  the  world  as  I  have  had  life  in  the 
world.  We  have  life  in  the  world." 

"He  is  one,  then,  that  may  be  loved?" 

"He  is  a  great  poet,  though  he  would  never 
call  himself  so.  He  just  feels  and  acts  so.  ... 
I  think  his  face  is  beautiful." 

"I  think  that  your  face  is  beautiful,"  thought 
Miss  Darcy. 

The  tawny  road  turned  a  little  east.  Trees 
yet  green,  trees  that  wore  the  one  color  the  year 
round,  blended  with  golden  trees  and  scarlet 
trees.  Wild  grapes  with  twisted  and  shaggy 
stems  and  yellowing  leaves,  with  blue  grapes 
hanging  over,  ran  and  mounted,  held  by  the 
forest  arms  up  to  the  sun.  Sumac  that  was 
somehow  like  the  Indian,  that  seemed  to  hold 
memories  of  the  Indian  in  the  land,  grew  in  each 

12 


SWEET  ROCKET 

minute  clearing.  There  arose  a  little,  rustling 
wind,  the  ineffable  blue  air  moving  lightly. 
Brown  butterflies  abounded.  The  sense  grew 
strong  of  remoteness,  of  calm  that  was  not  indo- 
lence, of  beauty  gathered  and  at  home. 

Miss  Darcy  moved  a  little.  Marget  Land 
turned  toward  her.  "You  feel  it,  don't  you?" 

"Yes." 

"They  that  come  feel  it.  They  are  drawn. 
There  are  centers  of  integration.  This  is  one. 
I  do  not  know  who  started  it.  Probably  many, 
working  in  at  different  times.  But  now  it  is  in 
action." 

"Is  that  mysticism?" 

"No.     It  is  fact." 

The  forest  stopped  with  clean  decision.  The 
road  ran  through  fields  where  the  corn  had  been 
cut  and  shocked.  The  shocks  stood  in  rows  like 
brown  wigwams.  Daniel  and  the  phaeton  came 
down  to  a  little  river,  very  clear,  falling  and 
murmuring  over  stones  above  and  below  a  ford, 
but  at  the  ford  a  mirror,  reflecting  autumn  hills 
and  heaven.  Across  the  ford  stretched  a  little 
pebbly  beach,  crowned  with  trees  and  grass,  and 
behind  the  trees  stood  a  brick  house,  old-red, 
not  so  large  as  large  houses  go,  but  of  excellent 
line.  It  had  a  porch  with  Doric  pillars,  weather- 
softened.  It  stood  among  fine  trees  in  a  small 
valley  shut  in  on  all  sides  by  hills  and  moun- 
tains, all  forested  to  the  top.  Only  the  road 
and  the  river  seemed  to  have  way  out  and  in, 
2  13 


SWEET  ROCKET 

only  road  and  river  and  air  and  birds.  Valley 
and  colored  mountain  walls  were  proportioned, 
modeled,  tinted  to  some  wide  and  deep  artist's 
taste.  The  tone  was  rest  without  weakness, 
movement  without  fury,  solitude  that  had  all 
company. 

"How  could  you  help  but  love  it!"  said  the 
visiting  woman. 

"I  don't  try  to  help  it.  ...  If  it  burned  down 
— if  the  hills  sank  and  the  wood  was  destroyed — 
still  it  would  endure,  and  still  I  could  come  here. 
Now  we  cross  the  river.  Look  at  the  bright 
stones  and  the  minnows,  gliding,  darting!" 

Up  from  the  river,  across  the  pebbly  shore, 
rose  cedars  dark  and  tall.  "They  are  like  ward- 
ers. Only  there's  nothing,  really,  to  ward  out. 
All  things  may  meet  here.  We  go  this  way,  to 
the  back  of  the  house." 

"It  feels  enchanted." 

"It  is  so  simple.  You  might  call  it  meek. 
.There  are  people  who  pass  who  say,  'How 
lonely!'" 

They  were  now  at  the  back  of  the  house, 
where  the  road  skirted  the  flower  garden.  Here 
was  the  back  door,  with  three  rounded,  moss- 
grown  steps  of  stone.  Daniel  and  the  phaeton 
stood  still.  The  two  women  left  the  vehicle. 
A  colored  man  appeared.  "Miss  Darcy,  this  is 
Mancy.  Mancy,  this  is  Miss  Darcy,  come  to 
stay  with  us  as  long  as  she  will." 

Mancy,  tall  and  spare,  with  an  Indian  great- 

14 


SWEET  ROCKET 

grandmother,  said  that  he  was  glad  to  see  her, 
and  took  her  bags.  In  the  brick  kitchen  in  the 
yard,  Mirny  was  singing: 

"Swing  low,  sweet  chariot, 
Coming  for  to  carry  me  home — " 


II 


"  I  MIGHT  stay  a  week."  Anna  Darcy  spoke 
1  to  herself,  standing  at  the  window  of  the 
room  where  Marget  had  left  her.  She  looked 
down  upon  flowers  and  out  to  the  southern  wall 
that  closed  in  the  valley.  The  mountains  had 
the  tints  of  desert  sands  at  sunset.  They  had 
long  wave  forms ;  they  were  not  peaked,  nor  very 
high.  They  were  so  old,  she  knew — Appalachians 
— older  than  Apennine  or  Himalaya.  They  were 
wearing  down  here,  disintegrating.  The  weather 
would  be  lowering  them  year  by  year.  They 
were  removing  and  building  elsewhere.  They 
had  granaries  full  of  memories,  and  they  must 
have  somewhere,  springing  like  the  winter 
wheat,  as  many  as  the  blades  of  wheat,  antici- 
pations. Down  in  the  garden  she  saw  marigolds 
and  zinnias,  late  blooming  pansies,  mignonette, 
snapdragon  and  aster  and  heliotrope,  larkspur, 
mourning  bride,  and  citronalis.  A  rosy  light 
bathed  garden  and  fields.  This  was  the  back 
of  the  house.  She  saw  two  or  three  cabins  and 
a  barn,  stacked  hay,  and  a  rail  fence  worn  and 
lichened,  fostering  a  growth  of  trumpet  vine  and 
traveler's  joy.  She  heard  cow  bells.  A  boy 

16 


SWEET  ROCKET 

with  a  good-natured  ebony  face  crossed  the 
path  below,  carrying  two  milk  pails.  Chickens, 
turkeys,  and  guineas  walked  about  in  the  barn- 
yard. From  the  kitchen,  fifty  feet  from  the 
house,  floated  a  smell  of  coffee  and  of  bread  in 
the  oven.  All  the  place  was  clean,  friendly. 

She  turned  to  the  large,  four-windowed  room. 
The  walls  had  a  paper  of  lavender-gray,  on 
which  hung  three  prints.  The  bed  was  a  four- 
poster,  with  a  linen,  ball-fringed  valance. 
Books  stood  ranged  above  an  ancient  desk;  a 
blue  jug  held  asters.  There  was  a  large  closet  and 
— modern  blessing — a  bathroom,  white  tubbed, 
pleasant  and  light.  It  had  been,  she  saw,  an  old 
dressing  room  between  the  two  chambers  upon 
this  side  of  the  hall,  with  a  door  for  each.  Both 
doors  being  ajar,  she  saw  Marget's  room,  large 
like  this  one,  furnished  not  unlike  this  one.  But 
that,  something  told  her,  was  really  the  spare 
room,  and  this  that  she  was  to  dwell  in  was 
Marget's  room.  It  had  the  feel  of  Marget.  "It 
is  the  pleasantest,  and  so  she  has  given  it  to 
me." 

She  bathed  and  changed  her  dress.  All  the 
time  old,  happy  rhythms  ran  in  her  head. 
Dressed,  she  sat  down  by  one  of  the  western 
windows,  in  the  yet  warm  light.  She  rested 
her  head  against  the  back  of  the  chair,  her  eyes 
closed.  She  was  no  longer  a  young  woman,  and 
she  had  had  a  tiring  year,  and  it  was  grateful 
to  her  to  rest  thus.  Rest!  It  was  the  word,  it 

17 


SWEET  ROCKET 

was  the  feeling,  that  was  dwelling  in  this  place. 
Rest,  rest,  deep  rest  without  idleness. 

The  air  was  so  rare  and  fine — mountain  air. 
She  remembered  that  they  said  that  the  valley 
itself  lay  high.  Mountain  air.  But  even  while 
she  thought  that  she  had  a  sudden  sense  of  sea 
air,  fine  and  strong  and  drenched  with  sun. 

There  would  be  five  or  six  rooms  on  this  floor. 
All  were  large,  and  the  hall  between  was  large. 
The  stairway  was  very  good,  the  woodwork 
everywhere  good.  The  ceilings  were  high.  They 
used  lamps  and  candles.  The  day  had  been 
warm.  Fire  was  not  needed.  But  wood  was 
laid  in  the  fireplace  and  the  wood  box  beside  it 
held  chestnut  and  pine. 

This  window  gave  upon  the  west.  Here  were 
grass  and  the  red  and  gold  trees,  and  the  pebbly 
beach  and  the  sickle  of  the  water,  and  the  lion- 
colored  fields  and  the  wood  through  which  they 
had  driven,  and  the  amethyst  mountains.  The 
sun  had  set,  but  the  sky  stayed  aglow.  The  fa- 
tigue went  out  of  the  old  teacher's  face.  " '  Cast 
thy  bread  upon  the  waters,  and  after  many 
days  it  shall  return  to  thee! ' '  She  did  not  con- 
sciously repeat  this,  but  the  saying  overhung  her. 

She  had  slightly  opened  the  door  giving  upon 
the  hall,  so  that  Marget,  returning,  might  know 
that  she  was  ready.  Stair  and  hall  floor  were 
bare  wood.  A  step  sounded  upon  the  one  and 
then  upon  the  other.  She  was  sensitive  to  the 
way  folk  trod.  "That  is  Mr.  Linden." 

18 


SWEET  ROCKET 

He  passed  her  door  and  she  heard  him  enter 
his  room  across  the  hall. 

Marget  presently  came  for  her.  "Let  us  go 
into  the  garden  until  the  bell  rings."  The 
garden  lay  spread  in  breadths  of  violet  brocade. 
They  walked  on  brick  paths  and  smelled  box  and 
mignonette.  Then  Zinia  rang  the  supper  bell. 

The  two  entered  the  lower  hall  yet  drenched 
with  the  afterglow.  A  man,  tall  and  big  framed, 
turned  at  their  step.  "Miss  Darcy,  this  is  Mr. 
Linden."  He  put  out  his  hand;  the  visitor  laid 
hers  in  it.  It  was  a  strong  hand,  likable.  His 
voice,  when  he  spoke,  was  the  voice  for  the  hand. 
"I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Miss  Darcy!  Marget 
and  I  are  glad." 

There  was  light  enough  to  show  a  strong- 
featured,  clean-shaven  face.  The  eyes  were 
blue-gray.  They  were  not  disfigured.  She 
also  came  to  think  his  face  a  beautiful  one. 

They  went  into  the  dining  room,  where  two 
lamps  were  lighted.  The  mahogany  table  had 
a  blue  bowl  of  larkspur.  Zinia,  in  a  blue 
cotton  dress  and  white  apron,  waited.  There 
were  coffee,  delicate  rolls,  a  perfection  of  but- 
ter and  of  cream,  a  salad,  coddled  apples,  and 
sugar  cakes.  Marget  sat  behind  the  coffee  urn 
and  cups  and  saucers.  Richard  Linden  did  not 
take  the  foot  of  the  table,  but  sat  beside  her, 
at  the  right.  She  aided  him  quietly,  perfectly, 
nor  did  he  need  as  much  aid  as  might  be  thought. 
He  was  so  skillful;  eyes  must  be  in  fingers. 

19 


SWEET  ROCKET 

Zinia,  too,  marked  his  needs,  forestalled  things. 
She  called  him  Mr.  Dick.  She  had  for  him  a 
low,  rich,  confidential  whisper.  "The  salt,  Mr. 
Dick."  "Cottage  cheese,  Mr.  Dick."  Marget 
called  him  Richard. 

The  three  talked  of  the  ring  of  this  valley  and 
of  the  ring  without  and  around  it,  of  Miss 
Darcy's  doings  and  of  Sweet  Rocket's,  and  of 
everybody's.  It  seemed  that  papers,  magazines, 
the  news,  must  come  here.  Earth  was  the  earth 
of  the  beginning  of  the  third  decade  of  the 
twentieth  century.  There  was  news  enough. 

Supper  over,  they  went  into  the  parlor  that 
was  opposite  the  dining  room,  and  was  no  more 
parlor  than  library.  It  stretched  around,  a  big 
room  with  old  pictures,  old  furniture,  with  books. 
A  fire  flamed  and  sang.  They  sat  in  the  fire- 
light, Richard  Linden  on  one  side  of  the  hearth 
and  Marget  on  the  other,  and  Miss  Darcy  beside 
the  latter.  Still  there  was  talk.  The  visitor 
would  have  gathered  where  they  stood  on  ques- 
tions of  the  day,  then  suddenly  saw  that  they 
stood  all  round  and  through,  and  that  the  day 
to  them  was  so  old  and  young  that  it  included 
yesterday  and  to-morrow.  That  being  so,  their 
solutions  were  not  always  those  currently  offered. 

She  also  found  that  though  they  talked  they 
were  not  talkative.  With  them  conversation 
became  a  rhythmic  thing — tranquil  pause,  deep 
retirement,  then  again  the  word.  And  it  startled 
her  almost,  how  completely  they  were  one. 

20 


SWEET  ROCKET 

When  they  had  sat  by  the  fire  an  hour  Marget, 
rising,  put  violin  music  upon  a  victrola.  Hafitz 
played  to  them  a  Hebrew  melody;  Kreisler 
played,  and  Maud  Powell.  The  flames  danced, 
the  world  heightened.  Then,  one  after  the  other, 
came  three  songs,  and  between  each,  as  between 
the  violin  pieces,  they  watched  the  fire,  and  the 
forest  and  the  night  wind  were  felt  around. 

"Oh,  that  we  two  were  may  ing!" 

The  song  ended,  the  fire  burned,  they  heard 
the  river,  the  forest  was  all  around.  A  man's 
voice  was  lifted. 

"Oh,  that  I  knew  where  I  might  find  Him,  that  I  might  come 
into  His  Presence!" 

Again  the  wide  and  deep  pause,  and  then  the 
third  song. 

"And  the  world  shall  go  up  with  a  shout  unto  God." 

Marget  shut  the  victrola.  Again  they  sat  in 
that  quiet.  It  was  systole  and  diastole,  it  was 
in  and  out,  and  inexpressibly  it  rested!  And 
that  was  what  she  wanted,  rest. 

Marget  lighted  a  lamp  that  stood  upon  the 
table.  Linden  said,  "Hadn't  you  rather  not 
read,  to-night?" 

"No.     We  won't  read  long." 

He  turned  to  the  visitor.  "Do  you  mind 
listening?" 

21 


SWEET  ROCKET 

Miss  Darcy  was  glad  to  listen.  Marget  began 
to  read.  Her  old  teacher  remembered  that  she 
had  read  well  twenty  years  ago.  She  read 
better  now.  The  book  was  Lafcadio  Hearn's 
West  Indies.  "We  travel  so,"  said  Linden. 
"We  take  a  right  journey er  and  journey  with 
him." 

The  fire  flickered,  then  seemed  to  pass  into 
actual  fire  of  sun.  They  were  in  Martinique, 
under  Pelee,  in  Saint  Pierre,  in  Grand  Anse. 
Again  she  was  startled  to  feel  how  real  it 
was.  She  touched,  she  knew,  the  people  of 
Martinique. 

Later,  when  the  book  had  been  closed,  when 
they  had  said  good  night,  one  to  the  other,  when 
she  lay  in  bed  in  the  dark  quiet,  she  experienced 
strongly  what  a  certain  number  of  times  in  her 
life  she  had  been  able  to  experience  faintly. 
She  experienced  coherence  that  was  wider  than 
old  coherences.  She  interlocked  with  this  place 
and  her  hosts.  She  held  them,  they  held  her. 
At  the  end  of  the  week  she  must  go  afar.  "  But 
never  any  more  so  far  that  I  lose  the  tune — 
never  any  more!"  She  went  to  sleep  with  a 
strange,  fair  feeling  of  sea  about  her.  Not  that 
the  forest,  the  hills  and  mountains,  were  not 
there,  but  she  felt  the  sea  likewise.  "Of  course 
it  is  there,  but  I  never  thought  to  look  at  it  or 
taste  it !  The  sea  and  mountains  and  they  and 
me,  threaded  together,  talking  together!"  She 
slept. 

22 


Ill 


A3  she  dressed,  the  next  morning,  she  heard 
Mirny  singing,  but  no  stir  of  her  hosts. 
The  sun  was  shining.  In  at  window  streamed 
life-giving  air.  Her  mind  was  upon  the  evening 
before  and  its  current  of  happenings.  As  she 
had  gone  to  sleep  with  the  sea,  of  which  they 
had  read,  about  her,  so  now  the  three  songs  to 
which  they  had  listened  returned  to  mind,  re- 
turned almost  to  sense.  That  was  one  remark- 
able thing  about  this  place — the  great  vividness 
and  depth  of  perception.  .  .  .  She  knew  the  dif- 
ference between  usual  or  even  intent  thinking 
and  intuition.  Her  intuitions  had  not  been  vigor- 
ous— she  had  looked  at  them  with  a  kind  of 
gray  wonder,  as  at  pale  children  from  afar. 
They  came  at  long  intervals,  but  were  never 
forgotten.  It  now  seemed  that  this  was  a  good 
clime  for  them. 

She  stood  still  in  the  middle  of  her  room. 
Her  mind  opened.  "Oh,  that  we  two  were 
maying!'  That  is  man  and  woman  love,  time 
out  of  mind;  love  and  cry  of  love !  It  is  Romeo 
and  Juliet,  it  is  Tristan  and  Isolde.  'Oh,  that 
I  knew  where  I  might  find  Him,  that  I  might 


SWEET  ROCKET 

come  into  His  presence!'  That  is  religious 
love  that  goes  up  from  man  and  woman  love. 
That  is  the  onward  going,  the  seeking  of  Great 
Lovers.  'And  the  world  shall  go  up  with  a 
shout  unto  God.'  That  is  when  we  move  and 
feel  and  think,  not  as  men  and  women,  but  as 
Humanity.  The  Great  Mating." 

The  little  firmament  closed  like  eyelids  and 
hid  the  greater.  She  was  a  small,  gray  woman, 
and  she  had  beaten  about  in  the  intellect,  and 
when  gleams  came  like  this  she  had  taken  them 
and  promptly,  when  the  sky  closed,  had  doubted 
if  they  had  ever  existed.  But  to-day  she  was  less 
inclined  to  doubt.  There  remained  a  faint  lumi- 
nousness  in  mind,  a  sense  of  depth  behind  feel- 
ing. She  thought,  "If  I  could  stay  in  that  gar- 
den I  should  indeed  know  bloom  and  music!" 
She  moved  about  the  room.  "The  point  is  that 
there  is  such  a  garden." 

She  finished  dressing,  and  went  downstairs. 
Zinia  met  her  in  the  hall.  "Good  mahning!  I 
hope  you  slept  well?  Miss  Marget  says  you're 
to  have  breakfast  on  the  porch.  It's  so  warm 
and  beautiful  this  manning." 

"She  has  had  hers?" 

"  Yes'm.  She  said  tell  you  Sweet  Rocket  was 
home.  I  put  the  table  here.  But  if  it's  too 
sunny  I  can  move  it." 

"It's  not  too  sunny.  I  like  sun,"  said  Miss 
Darcy. 

"I  like  it,  too,"  said  Zinia,  and  departed 

24 


SWEET  ROCKET 

kitchenward.  Anna  Darcy  sat  and  slowly  ate 
Catawba  grapes.  The  porch  was  wide,  the  table 
placed  between  high,  mellowed  pillars.  Beyond 
them  the  autumn  turf  ran  to  great  trees  colored 
like  Venetian  glass.  The  river  crescent  sparkled 
in  light.  Beyond  it  she  saw  the  fields  and  the 
woods  through  which  they  had  driven.  All  was 
closed  by  the  mountain  wall,  very  soft  and  gra- 
cious in  the  sun,  in  the  still,  warm  air. 

Zinia  brought  coffee  and  rolls.  There  was 
honey  upon  the  table,  and  an  old  blue  basket- 
dish  filled  with  red-amber  grapes.  Zinia  was 
very  dark,  supple,  and  strong.  She  had  large, 
kind,  African  eyes,  and  beautiful  teeth,  and  she 
moved  with  an  ample  and  conscious  majesty. 
Miss  Darcy  loved  to  watch  her. 

The  evening  before,  a  collie  lay  upon  the  steps. 
Miss  Darcy  asked  of  him. 

"Tarn?  .  He's  gone  with  Mr.  Dick." 

Zinia  stood  by  a  pillar,  watching  with  kind 
eyes  the  visitor's  evident  enjoyment  of  her 
breakfast.  Miss  Darcy  had  noted  before,  and 
noted  now,  the  lack  of  any  servility  at  Sweet 
Rocket.  They  all  seemed  too  much  a  part  of 
one  another  for  that.  But  there  was  also  that 
fine  courtesy  and  feeling  that  did  not  speak  out 
of  the  way  when  speech  was  not  wanted.  They 
all  seemed  to  sail  upon  some  inner  current  of 
understanding. 

She  finished  breakfast,  and,  rising,  helped 
Zinia  to  carry  away  the  table.  Dining  room 

25 


SWEET  ROCKET 

and  pantry  shone  clean  and  simple.  Zinia  had 
flowers  in  the  pantry,  and  upon  the  shelf  below 
the  china  press  an  open  book.  Miss  Darcy 
glanced.  "What  are  you  reading? — Pilgrim's 
Progress?1' 

"Yes'm,"  said  Zinia,  in  her  rich  voice.  "I 
like  that  girl  Mercy." 

The  house  was  clean  and  sunny;  still,  and  yet 
singing  somehow,  like  a  great  shell  held  to 
ear.  She  walked  about,  and  at  last  went  out 
into  the  high  morning  and  the  flower  garden. 
The  brick  paths  glistened.  Box  smelled  sweet, 
mignonette  and  citronalis.  Around  flowed  bird 
life  and  a  vast  insect  life.  Multitudinous  song 
and  hum  and  chirr  fell  into  harmony.  She 
walked  up  and  down  the  paths  and  partook  of 
garden  amusements,  then  went  out  by  a  wicket 
gate  and  found  herself  near  the  outdoor  kitchen. 
A  brown  four-year-old  was  seated  on  the  stone 
step.  She  stopped  before  him.  "Good  morning!" 

"Manning." 

"What  is  your  name?" 

"Just  So." 

"Just  So?" 

"Yass'm." 

Mirny  appeared  in  the  doorway.  Mirny  was 
a  small  woman  with  a  face  like  a  carved  cherry 
stone  for  wrinkles.  "He's  my  grandson,  ma'am, 
Just  So." 

"I  heard  you  singing,"  said  Miss  Darcy.  "I 
loved  it." 

26 


SWEET  ROCKET 

"Singing's  like  butter  on  the  griddle,"  said 
Mirny.  "It  helps  you  turn  things!"  She 
sighed  portentously,  and  then  she  groaned. 
"I've  had  a  lot  of  things  to  turn!  Yes'm,  I've 
lived  long  and  turned  a  lot  of  things!" 

Her  voice  was  gloom,  and  yet  carried  more 
than  a  suspicion  of  rich  chuckle.  She  enjoyed 
her  old  woes,  disaster  had  grown  so  shallow.  "I, 
too,"  thought  the  visitor,  "have  had  a  lot  of 
things  to  turn!  I,  too,  have  come  to  where  I 
can  stand  back  and  see  the  drama  and  feel  the 
play  thrill!" 

Just  So  was  a  solemn  young  one.  He  sat  and 
gazed  as  though  in  contemplation  of  the  many 
things  he  would  have  to  turn.  Then  a  brown 
hen  came  by,  and  he  put  out  a  brown  toe  and 
dug  in  the  earth,  and  said,  "  Shoo! "  and  laughed. 
Miss  Darcy  left  him  playing  with  a  string  of 
spools  and  a  broken  coffee  mill.  Mirny  in  the 
kitchen  was  toasting  coffee  and  singing.  The 
coffee  smelled  better  than  good,  the  singing  was 
without  age  in  the  voice. 

"Who  built  the  Ark? 
Oh,  Noah  built  the  Ark! 

It  rained  forty  days, 

And  it  rained  forty  nights! 

'There  ain't  any  sun  and  there  ain't  any  heights!' 
Oh,  Noah  built  the  Ark!" 

Miss  Darcy's  path  led  on  to  the  barn.  Cocks 
and  hens,  white  and  red,  held  the  barnyard. 

27 


SWEET  ROCKET 

She  watched  them  with  pleasure,  and  the  sun 
on  the  gray  walls  and  the  barn  swallows  going 
in  and  out.  Then  she  found  Mancy  sitting  under 
a  shed,  mending  a  wagon  shaft. 

"Good  morning!" 

"Good  morning!" 

"It's  a  lovely  day." 

"It  is  so,  ma'am!  You're  from  the  city, 
aren't  you?" 

"Yes." 

"I  hope  you  like  Sweet  Rocket?" 

"  I  do.     It  makes  you  feel  whole." 

Mancy  glanced  at  her.  He  was  a  long,  brown 
man,  with  features  between  negro  and  Indian. 
What  you  liked  very  much  was  his  smile.  It 
dropped  over  his  face  slowly,  like  sun  on  brown 
hills,  out  of  quiet,  cloudy  weather.  ''That's  a 
true  saying!"  he  offered.  "That's  what  I  think 
about  heaven.  We'll  just  feel  and  know  that 
we're  well  and  whole." 

The  school-teacher's  mind  said:  "The  negro  is 
a  religious  character.  He  is  always  willing  to 
talk  of  the  Lord  and  of  heaven." 

"All  the  little  torn  bits  coming  together," 
finished  Mancy. 

He  sat  mending  the  wagon  shaft.  It  came  to 
her,  standing  watching  him,  to  say  something  of 
the  distracted  and  warring  earth.  His  slow 
smile  stole  again  over  his  face.  "Yes'm.  We 
hurt  ourselves  right  often." 

"You  call  it  that — hurting  oneself?" 

28 


SWEET  ROCKET 

"Yes'm.     What  do  you  call  it?" 

"I  don't  know. ...  I  suppose  it  is  hurting  one's 
self — suicidal  mania!"  she  thought.  "Perhaps 
all  the  history  I  have  ever  taught  has  been  the 
story  of  self  hurt  and  self  heal — perhaps  we 
fight  our  self  in  Europe  and  Asia  and  America. 
Perhaps,  in  the  tissue  wide  as  space,  centers  here 
and  centers  there  are  beginning  to  learn  self 
heal  above  self  hurt — " 

She  stood  looking  at  the  mountains  while 
Mancy  worked  on  at  the  wagon  shaft.  Pres- 
ently she  said,  "You  would  say  that  this  was  a 
very  lonely  place,  but  I  have  touched  a  thousand 
things  since  I  came  that  run  out  and  touch 
everywhere!" 

"  Mountains  aren't  walls,"  said  Mancy. 

She  left  the  barn  and  walked  on  to  the  orchard. 
The  apples  had  been  gathered,  but  a  few  red  orbs 
yet  hung  from  the  branches.  She  walked  be- 
neath the  trees  and  she  thought  of  old,  dull 
troubles  and  anxieties  that  had  attended  her  life. 
This  morning  light  seemed  at  work  among  them, 
disintegrating  them. 

The  sun  came  down  between  the  trees.  The 
air  blew  soft  and  fine.  She  returned  to  the  house, 
and  upon  the  porch  steps  found  Mrs.  Cliff  with 
baskets  to  sell,  woven  of  white-oak  splits,  in  a 
mountain  cabin,  by  her  son  and  herself.  She  was 
waiting  for  Marget  and  seemed  content  to  wait 
as  long  as  the  sun  shone.  She  wore  a  faded  calico 
and  a  brown  sunbonnet,  and  she  dipped  snuff. 
3  29 


SWEET  ROCKET 

' '  Good  morning !  * ' 

"Mornin'!" 

Mrs.  Cliff  put  her  snuffbox  in  her  pocket. 
"Don't  you  want  to  buy  a  basket?  These  three 
are  fer  Miss  Marget." 

Miss  Darcy  examined  and  admired.  "I'd  like 
this  little  one."  Mrs.  Cliff  put  it  aside.  "I 
hain't  seen  you  here  before." 

"I've  just  come.  You've  got  a  lovely  coun- 
try." 

"Yaas.  We  think  so.  Do  you  see  yon  clear- 
ing on  mountain?  I  come  from  thar."  Miss 
Darcy  sat  down,  and  she  and  the  mountain 
woman  talked  of  basket  weaving  and  of  the 
times,  which  Mrs.  Cliff  said  were  hard.  "What 
do  you  think  sugar  is?  An'  what  you  got  to 
give  fer  a  pair  of  shoes?  You've  got  to  sit  an' 
fergit,  even  while  you're  rememberin',  or  you 
don't  git  nowhar!  I  wish  Jesus  Christ  would 
come  on  back!" 

"He  is  somewhat  needed,"  Anna  Darcy 
agreed. 

"I  had  a  funny  thing  happen  to  me  yester- 
day," said  Mrs.  Cliff.  "I  had  jest  finished  that 
basket.  I  was  setting  on  the  step  an'  awful 
tired,  an'  I  shet  my  eyes  an'  leaned  my  head 
back  against  the  door.  An  jest  like  that  I 
thought,  'He's  in  little  bits  in  all  of  us,  an*  we've 
got  to  put  him  together.'  An'  jest  thinking  it, 
all  in  a  minute  I  felt  so  big  and  rested !  But  it 
couldn't  last.  I  wish  it  would  come  again." 

30 


SWEET  ROCKET 

Marget's  voice  was  heard,  speaking  to  Zinia. 
"She's  come  back.  They're  mighty  kind  folk 
here!" 

"I  know  that." 

"They  like  doin'  you  a  good  turn,"  said  Mrs. 
Cliff,  and,  getting  to  her  feet,  gathered  up  her 
baskets. 


IV 


IN  the  afternoon  the  three  and  Tarn  went  for 
a  walk.  They  crossed  the  river  by  a  foot- 
bridge and  walked  a  mile  by  waterside.  This 
brought  them  to  valley  end.  The  stream  slipped 
on  between  close-standing  hills,  but  the  strollers 
turned  aside  into  a  glade  from  which  the  greater 
forest  had  been  cut.  Young  trees  and  tall  old 
trees  were  set  with  some  spareness.  All  wore 
robes  like  princes;  all  glowed  in  a  dream  of 
spring  behind  winter.  The  ground  had  gray 
moss  and  green  moss,  and  all  manner  of  minute 
and  charming  growths.  The  sun  so  came  into 
this  glade  that  the  wild  grape  found  and  took 
advantage.  It  leaned  its  wine-hued,  shaggy 
stem  against  trunks;  it  climbed  and  overran, 
and  made  bridges  from  tree  to  tree.  Its  festoons 
shone  aloft,  its  broad  leaves  and  blue  clusters 
dreamed  against  autumn  sky.  The  air  breathed 
dry  and  fine.  Sunshine  lay  on  ground  in  shafts 
and  plaques  of  gold. 

Richard  Linden  used  a  staff.  Marget  kept 
near  him  and  Tarn  just  ahead.  Walking  so, 
you  would  not  think  he  was  a  blind  man.  In- 
deed, he  seemed  to  have  a  sixth  sense,  he  moved 

32 


SWEET  ROCKET 

so  easily.  The  three  walked  without  much 
speech.  The  day  was  the  sumptuous  speaker; 
these  woods,  this  feather  air,  the  admirable 
poise  of  the  year  before  its  journey  from  hearth 
fire,  the  plain  chant  of  the  crickets,  the  trill  of 
the  bird. 

In  a  roll  over  his  shoulder  Linden  carried  a 
wide  and  thick  plaid.  Presently  Marget  said: 
"Let  us  rest  before  we  turn  back.  Miss  Darcy 
isn't  the  tramp  that  we  are!"  whereupon  they 
pitched  camp  for  half  an  hour,  spreading  the 
plaid  beneath  a  tree.  Richard  Linden,  resting 
against  a  chance  bowlder,  locked  his  hands 
behind  his  head  and  lifted  his  face  to  the  high, 
free  sky.  Marget  took  off  her  wide  hat  and  lay 
down  beside  Miss  Darcy,  who  sat  on  a  stone. 
Tarn  had  the  dry  grass  and  moss  and  the  fringe 
of  the  plaid. 

Marget  spoke.  "We  are  under  a  young 
hickory,  Richard.  It  is  all  gold.  There  is  a 
dogwood  close  by,  and  its  leaves  are  red,  and  it 
is  very  full  of  berries.  Wild  grape  has  started 
by  the  dogwood  and  crossed  to  the  hickory.  It 
is  far  and  near  and  up  and  down.  The  leaves 
are  half  green  and  half  yellow,  and  there  are  a 
thousand  bunches  of  grapes." 

"I  see!"  he  said;  "and  I  hear  a  woodpecker." 

"It's  yonder  on  a  white  oak.  It's  a  flicker. 
There  isn't  a  cloud  in  the  sky,  and  far,  far  up, 
small  as  a  dragon  fly,  is  a  buzzard  sailing. 
There's  a  cedar  waxwing  in  the  dogwood  strip- 

33 


SWEET  ROCKET 

ping  berries.  There  is  another — a  third!  We 
frightened  them  away,  but  they  are  coming  back. 
They're  after  the  grapes.  There  will  be  fifty  in 
a  moment — " 

They  kept  still  and  watched,  Marget's  hand 
on  Tarn.  Slender,  graceful,  tawny,  crested  birds 
came  in  a  flock.  They  entered  the  hickory  and 
the  dogwood.  With  quick  movements  of  head 
and  body  they  stripped  the  grapes  and  the  scar- 
let dogwood  berries.  They  perched  and  re- 
moved, and  perched  again.  *They  kept  up  a  low 
talk  among  themselves  and  a  perpetual  flutter 
of  wings.  It  was  as  though  a  wind  were  in  the 
trees,  so  continuous  was  the  sound.  Blue  grapes, 
dogwood  berries,  dropped  upon  the  ground.  For 
ten  minutes  the  flock  fluttered  and  fed,  while 
with  intent,  pleased  faces  the  human  beings 
watched  or  listened.  Then  Tarn  became  aware 
of  a  rabbit  down  the  glade  and  started  up. 
Away  flew  the  cedar  waxwings. 

"Oh,  wasn't  it  lovely?" 

They  sat  still.  Richard  Linden,  resting  against 
the  rock,  kept  his  face  raised  to  blue  sky. 
"Their  life!"  he  said.  "As  we  enter  upon  their 
life—" 

Tarn  came  back,  the  rabbit  having  vanished. 
' '  Lie  still,  Tarn,  lie  still !  Get  into  your  life-to-be 
for  a  little,  and  be  quiet  shepherd  on  a  hill  in- 
stead of  shepherd's  dog!" 

"Their  life—" 

The  visitor  to  Sweet  Rocket  sat  still,  with  her 

34 


SWEET  ROCKET 

eyes  upon  the  gold  fretwork  of  the  hickory.  She 
was  thinking  of  the  birds.  It  was  very  sunny, 
very  still  in  the  glade.  Her  companions  also 
rested  silent.  They  seemed  to  be  in  reverie,  to 
be  going  where  they  would  in  their  inner  worlds. 
Miss  Darcy  followed  the  waxwings  in  their 
flight.  She  saw  the  flock  that  had  been  here, 
and  other  flocks,  stripping  wild  grape  and  dog- 
wood and  cedar  berries.  They  were  far  and 
near,  in  many  a  woodland  glade.  In  thousands 
they  twined  and  turned,  they  talked  in  the  clan, 
their  wings  made  a  windy  sound.  And  the  wood- 
peckers! Hammer  and  hammer,  through  the 
forests  of  the  world!  And  the  thrush  that  she 
had  heard  this  morning,  and  the  humming  bird 
in  the  garden — and  the  crows  that  had  cawed 
from  a  hillside,  the  hawk  and  the  owl.  .  .  .  Sud- 
denly she  saw  in  some  space  an  eagle  rise  to  its 
nest  upon  a  crag  edge.  From  the  one  she  saw 
others.  Eagles  in  all  the  lands.  For  one  instant 
she  caught  a  far  glimpse  of  the  Idea,  the  absolute 
eagle.  There  was  the  rush  of  a  loftier  sense. 
Then  she  sank  from  that,  but  she  saw  eagles  in  all 
the  lands.  She  saw  the  great  hawks  and  the  con- 
dors. Green  waves  were  beneath  her;  with  sea 
birds  she  skimmed  them  in  the  first  light,  and 
the  cries  of  her  kind  were  about  her.  On  the 
ice  floes  walked  the  penguins,  the  albatross  win- 
nowed solitude.  With  heron  and  flamingo  and 
crane  she  knew  shore  and  marsh.  The  white 
swan  and  the  black  swan  oared  their  way 

35 


SWEET  ROCKEJ 

through  still  waters.  In  their  right  circle  moved 
the  peacock  and  the  pheasant,  the  lyre  bird,  the 
bower  bird,  and  the  bird  of  paradise.  The 
nightingale  sang  in  deep  woods,  and  in  southern 
thickets  of  yellow  jessamine  sang  the  mocking 
bird.  The  lark  mounted  into  the  air,  the  cuckoo 
called  from  the  hedge,  the  wren  built  under  the 
eaves.  In  the  gray  dawn,  from  a  thousand  farms 
and  hamlets,  crowed  the  cocks.  Over  all  the 
earth  clucked  the  hen,  peeped  the  downy  chick. 
The  swallows  crossed  a  saffron  sky  and  the  whip- 
poorwill  cried  in  the  night,  and  in  the  morning 
the  quails  said  "Bob  White !"  Migrating  hordes, 
like  scuds  of  clouds,  drove  before  favorable 
winds,  north,  south!  She  was  plunged  in  the 
life  of  birds,  where  they  waded  between  deep 
water  and  solid  shore,  where  they  lived  in  a 
world  of  green,  where  they  flew  aloft  and  afar, 
over  land,  over  sea — all  their  plumage,  shapes, 
and  magnitudes.  She  seemed  to  hear  their 
cheepings,  cries  and  songs,  to  hear  them  and 
touch  them,  their  sleekness,  lightness,  threaded 
beauty !  Over  all  the  earth  spread  the  passionate 
wooing,  the  daylong  song.  Here  were  the  nests, 
the  multitudes,  and  the  eggs,  green  and  blue 
and  white  and  dark.  The  nests  and  eggs  be- 
came transfigured.  The  straw  of  the  nests 
burned  lines  of  white  fire,  the  cup  was  diamond 
light,  the  shell  of  the  egg  no  more  than  a  window, 
and  through  it  was  seen  the  bird-past,  and  the 
bird  desire  and  will  and  power.  Out  of  the  egg 

36 


SWEET  ROCKET 

the  young — she  heard  the  nightingales  in  the 
woods,  the  lark  in  the  sky! 

"See  the  love  and  beauty  and  power  and  dar- 
ing! See  the  thought  and  feeling  pressing  on — 
see  them  trooping  into  fuller  being — see  them 
men  and  women,  their  tribes  and  nations !  When 
we  have  gone  far,  far  on,  see  their  human  earth ! " 

It  was  Linden,  she  thought,  who  said  that. 
She  came  back  with  a  great  throb  of  her  heart 
to  the  earth  beneath  a  golden  hickory,  to  the 
October  sun,  in  a  little  Virginian  valley.  Yet 
the  two  reclining  there  seemed  still  in  a  brown 
study,  gone  away.  She  thought:  "I  am  come 
into  a  strange  country !  Are  they  knowing,  feel- 
ing all  that  life  more  intensely  than  I,  for  all 
that  they  lie  there  so  quietly,  thinking,  one 
would  say,  of  to-morrow's  work,  of  a  book  they 
are  reading,  or  of  the  cedar  waxwings?  ...  It 
is  all  in  the  range  of  perception,  could  I  run  like 
light  all  over  the  earth!  There  are  those  birds 
and  their  life.  I  only  saw  what  is/" 

But  she  felt  that  while  she  had  had  a  wave 
of  it  those  two  had  a  whole  breadth  of  ocean. 
She  felt  that  they  were  expert,  adept.  She  felt 
again  the  breath  of  wonder.  It  was  at  once 
wonder  and  homelikeness.  "Glad — glad — glad 
that  I  came!  My  gray  road  turns!" 

Richard  Linden  dropped  his  hands  from  be- 
hind his  head  and  passed  them  over  his  eyes. 
Marget  rose  to  her  knees.  There  was  deep  light 
in  her  face.  She  lifted  then  let  fall  her  arms. 

37 


SWEET  ROCKET 

"Oh,  the  beauty  when  life  is  seen  as  a  landscape, 
heard  as  a  symphony,  smelled  as  a  garden,  tasted 
as  nectar,  dwelt  in  as  a  house!"  She  rose  to 
her  feet.  "The  sun  is  gone  from  the  grass.  It 
is  dawn  in  Tibet.  Come,  Tarn,  let  us  be  going 
home!" 

They  folded  the  plaid  and  left  the  hickory 
and  the  dogwood.  The  glade  was  turning  violet, 
but  the  hilltops  showed  golden  and  the  moun- 
tains stood  in  light.  A  rich  scent  breathed  from 
the  earth,  while  the  air  carried  a  spear  from  the 
north.  Leaving  the  wood,  they  took  again  the 
path  by  the  river,  that  sang  toward  them,  that 
held  pools  of  light. 

Walking  so,  Marget  fell  to  talking  of  Anna 
Darcy's  life,  the  manner  of  it,  her  steadfast  work 
from  year  to  year,  and  all  her  kindnesses,  and 
all  that  she  had  given.  At  first  Miss  Darcy 
tried  to  stop  her,  but  then  she  could  not  try  any 
longer,  the  appreciation  was  so  sweet.  Her  life 
had  been  difficult,  isolated  for  all  the  stir  around 
her,  subject  to  sorrows,  a  little  withered  and 
gray.  She  felt  the  exquisite  caress  of  their 
interest.  It  was  more  than  that  to  her;  it  was 
recognition. 

How  would  it  be  if  all  were  truly  interested  in 
all?  If  there  were  general  recognition? 

As  she  walked,  the  valley  and  the  hills,  the 
river  and  warm,  dusky  air,  the  collie,  the  man 
and  woman  with  her,  herself,  seemed  to  shift 
and  quiver  into  one.  Walls  vanished.  There 

38 


SWEET  ROCKET 

happened  rest,  understanding,  imperviousness  to 
harm,  blood  warmth,  and  new  and  strange 
aspiration. 

It  was  impossible  for  her  to  hold  the  moment. 
She  seemed  to  herself  to  sink  again  to  the  rigid 
and  small  shape  of  Anna  Darcy,  like  an  Egyptian 
figure  graved  on  stone,  a  plane  figure.  But  she 
did  not  wholly  fit  back  into  the  figure.  She  felt 
that  above  it  was  fullness  and  youth  and  song, 
and  that  they  were  hers  as  well  as  another's. 


AjAIN,  the  next  morning,  she  found  neither 
of  her  hosts.  "We  breakfast  early  and 
work  early,"  Marget  had  said.  Again  Zinia 
served  her  alone,  again  she  walked  in  the  flower 
garden,  again  she  went  farther  afield.  The  day 
was  brilliantly,  vividly  clear,  white  clouds  in 
the  sky,  and  between,  great  seas  of  cobalt.  She 
went  at  once  to  the  river  path,  but  turned  this 
morning  up  the  stream.  The  day  hung  joyous, 
the  high  and  moving  clouds,  the  light  and 
shadow  had  magnificence.  She  felt  very  well; 
she  really  looked  five  years  younger.  Before 
her,  beyond  a  spur  of  orchard,  she  made  out  the 
roof  of  a  building.  When  she  came  nearer  she 
felt  an  assurance  that  this  was  the  overseer's 
house.  ' '  Where  Marget  was  born/ '  she  thought ; 
"where  she  lived  with  her  father  and  mother 
and  brothers." 

Presently  she  stood  still  to  regard  the  place. 

The  house  was  a  small  one,  two-storied,  frame, 
painted  white  with  green  blinds.  It  had  a  small 
porch  with  a  window  to  either  side.  At  the 
back  she  made  out  a  wider  porch,  and  there 
were  outbuildings.  The  whole  was  buried 

40 


SWEET  ROCKET 

among  locust  trees  and  old  shrubs,  that  when 
she  came  nearer  she  recognized  for  lilac  and  al- 
thea  and  syringa.  Door  and  windows  stood 
open.  At  first  she  thought  she  would  turn  from 
the  river  to  the  house,  but  then  she  said,  "No, 
not  till  she  herself  brings  me  here  some  day." 
But  the  place  was  plain  before  her  where  she 
stood.  When  she  had  moved  a  few  paces  she 
looked  full  to  the  door,  between  locust  trees  and 
bushes.  She  was  now  beside  a  giant  sycamore, 
very  old,  all  copper  colored  as  to  leaf,  with 
dappled  white  and  brown  arms.  Built  around 
the  bole  was  a  wooden  bench,  old  and  weather- 
worn. "She  played  here  when  she  was  a  child. 
They  have  all  sat  here  beneath  this  tree.  She 
comes  here  now,  I  fancy,  often." 

She  took  her  seat.  No  one  came  in  or  out  of 
the  house  door  a  stone's  throw  away.  The  place 
was  sunny  and  deserted.  There  came,  as  it  were, 
a  veil  over  it.  She  shut  her  eyes  the  better  to 
look  at  child  life  here  with  father  and  mother 
and  Will  and  Edgar.  The  old  overseer,  who  had 
fought  in  the  war  for  the  old  order,  but  who, 
when  it  came  crash !  had  built  in  the  new ;  and 
the  mother,  Elizabeth  Land,  overworked  and 
uncomplaining;  and  the  boys  with  their  desires 
and  breedings  and  hopes — she  felt  them  all. 

Sitting  with  her  eyes  shut,  she  passed  into 
feeling  them  very  strongly.  The  place  turned 
to  be  of  thirty,  forty  years  ago.  She  moved 
with  the  overseer  as  he  went  to  his  work  and 

41 


SWEET  ROCKET 

came  from  it.  With  Marget  Land's  mother  she 
was  cooking,  sewing,  cleaning.  She  was  with  the 
three  children,  the  boys  older  than  the  girl,  at 
tasks  and  in  play.  Swim  in  the  river,  swing 
under  the  locust  tree,  go  for  berries,  for  per- 
simmons, chinquapins,  walnuts,  for  grapes  and 
haws,  go  for  the  cow,  work  in  the  garden  patch, 
shell  the  peas,  shuck  the  corn,  look  for  eggs, 
pick  the  currants  and  gooseberries,  split  the 
kindling,  gather  the  chips,  wash  the  dishes, 
clean  the  lamps,  sit  by  the  fire  and  study  read- 
ing, writing,  and  arithmetic — she  was  deep  in 
it,  deep  in  a  slow,  steady  current  of  participa- 
tion. It  did  not  seem  to  curve,  but  now  it  was 
her  own  childhood,  her  parents  and  brothers 
and  sisters,  an  old  town  house  and  a  leafy  town 
square — life,  life,  so  varied  and  so  the  same! 
Deep,  deep  wash  of  deep  waves,  and  so  pleasant, 
so  sweet,  all  the  pang  and  ill  lost!  A  past  that 
was  winnowed,  understood,  forgiven,  appreci- 
ated, loved  by  mind  and  heart  of  Farther  On, 
and  that  was  present,  gone  nowhere,  here,  in 
finer  space  and  finer  time,  a  vast  country  capable 
of  being  visited!  Going  into  it  was  to  find  the 
deathless  taste  of  eternity.  It  was  not  dark; 
you  could  fill  it  with  golden  light.  The  forms 
there  were  not  immovable,  not  dead.  As  you 
understood,  they  lived  and  were  yourself.  As 
you  remembered,  you  saw  that  you  were  re- 
membering, that  you  were  re-collecting  from 
far  and  near,  your  Self. 

42 


SWEET  ROCKET 

Anna  Darcy  sat  very  still.  "I  had  to  wait 
till  I  was  fifty-eight  years  old  to  see  that." 

As  on  yesterday  it  had  grown  out  of  a  common- 
place of  imagination  and  memory.  Memory  and 
imagination  had,  by  degrees,  entered  their  deeper 
selves. 

Again,  as  on  yesterday,  she  could  not  hold 
it.  Increased  energy,  increased  perception,  what 
the  ancients  called  the  Genius,  and  the  mystic 
called  illumination,  or  voice  of  God,  and  the 
moderns  higher  vibration,  superconsciousness — 
whatever  it  was,  and  perhaps  the  name  did  not 
much  matter,  she  had  touched  it  and  then  lost 
it.  But  she  knew  that  it  had  been  touched, 
and  that  it  was  desirable  to  know  it  or  its  like 
again. 

She  was  a  member  of  the  church,  a  praying 
woman.  She  bent  her  forehead  upon  her  hands : 
"O  God,  let  thy  kingdom  come!  As  it  comes 
near  us,  send  thy  breezes!" 

Presently,  rising,  she  went  on  up  the  stream. 
It  was  not  wide;  it  just  came  into  the  category 
of  river,  headwater,  she  knew,  of  a  greater 
river.  October  painted  it  with  russets  and  golds 
and  reds.  Midcurrent  showed  the  ineffable  blue 
of  the  sky,  or  when  clouds  drove  by  the  zenith,  the 
clouds.  She  walked  on  until  before  her  she  saw 
the  eastern  gate  of  the  vale.  The  hills  closed  in, 
leaving  a  bit  of  grassy  meadow  on  either  side 
the  stream.  This  narrowed.  The  hills  grew 
loftier,  insensibly  became  mountains.  She  was 

43 


SWEET  ROCKET 

in  a  mountain  pass,  gray  cliff  to  the  right,  hem- 
locks overhanging  the  water  that  was  broken 
now  by  bowlders,  debris  of  an  ancient  rock. 
The  path  was  cool  and  dark  and  washed  by  the 
scent  of  the  conifers.  Only  here  and  there  the 
climbing  sun  sent  splashing  through  an  intensity 
of  light  that  showed  every  fallen  needle,  every 
cone  or  twig  or  leaf  upon  the  path.  Not  far 
before  her  the  path  turned  and  went  up  over 
the  mountain.  She  thought,  "That  will  be  the 
way  to  Mrs.  Cliff's." 

She  came  upon  a  fisherman.  He  sat  among 
the  roots  of  a  hemlock,  and  was  engaged  in  reel- 
ing in  his  line.  He  was  a  man  neither  old  nor 
young,  with  a  long,  easy  frame,  and  a  short, 
graying  beard.  His  dress  was  that  of  a  fisher- 
man who  goes  forth  from  the  city  to  fish — but 
not  for  the  first  nor  the  second  nor  the  third 
time.  Nothing  that  he  had  on  was  new,  but  all 
was  well  cut. 

"Good  morning!"  he  said. 

"Good  morning!" 

He  worked  on  at  his  reel.  "Each  time  that 
I  do  this  I  say  that  it  is  the  last  time." 

"Why?" 

"I  grow  too  damned  able — I  beg  your  pardon! 
— to  put  myself  in  the  fish's  place." 

"Have  you  caught  any?" 

"This  morning?  Not  a  ghost  of  one!  Yet 
they  say  this  is  a  good  stream!  I  think  that 
I  warn  them  off  the  hook.  'Monsieur  Black 

44 


SWEET  ROCKET 

Bass,  or  Signer  Trout,  as  it  may  be,  my  desire 
not  to  take  you  is  gaining,  I  feel,  upon  my  desire 
to  take  you!  Your  own  desire  naturally  aiding 
the  first,  I  grow  to  feel  that  we  make  a  strong 
combination ! ' ' 

He  laughed,  putting  up  his  rod.  Then  his 
mustaches  went  down  and  his  face  became  seri- 
ous enough.  "So  much  mangling!  I've  had 
my  fill." 

"How  did  you  come?     Over  the  mountain?" 

"  Yes.  I  am  camping  with  a  dozen  New  York 
and  Washington  fellows  on  another  little  river 
over  there.  The  others  fish  that  stream.  I'm 
like  Mrs.  Elton.  I  adore  exploring!  I  slept 
last  night  in  a  mountain  cabin — Cliff's.  Can 
you  tell  me  how  far  I  am  from  Sweet  Rocket 
farm?" 

"  Less  than  a  mile." 

"No !  I  didn't  think  from  what  the  mountain 
folk  said  that  it  was  so  near.  I  knew  before  I 
came  that  he  was  somewhere  in  these  parts." 

"Do  you  know  Mr.  Linden?" 

"I  was  his  classmate  at  the  university.  Then, 
fifteen  years  ago,  I  met  him  in  southern  Russia. 
We  had  a  couple  of  weeks  together,  and  then  I 
must  hurry  on  to  Constantinople,  where  I  was 
due.  He  went  into  the  Caucasus.  I  lost  sight 
of  him.  It  was  two  years  later  that  I  heard  of 
that  accident  which  blinded  him,  and  I've 
heard  since  only  second-  and  third-hand  things. 
The  other  day  in  the  club  a  man  told  me  that 

4  45 


SWEET  ROCKET 

he  was  living  where  his  people  had  lived,  down 
here  in  Virginia.  I  meant  to  go  to  see  him,  but 
I  meant  to  write  first." 

"I  am  a  visitor  at  Sweet  Rocket.  But  I  am 
sure  that  Mr.  Linden  would  wish  you  to  come 
on  to  the  house.  Had  you  not  better  do  so?  " 

"Why,  yes,  then,  I  think  that  I  shall."  He 
stood  up  from  the  hemlock  roots.  "You  are 
very  good.  My  name  is  Curtin — Martin  Cur- 
tin." 

She  gave  her  own.  He  took  up  fisherman's 
paraphernalia  and  a  light  coat.  They  moved 
out  of  ravine  into  meadow  strip ;  before  them  lay 
the  jewel  valley.  Mr.  Curtin  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"And  he  hasn't  eyes  to  look  at  it!" 

Anna  Darcy  found  herself  answering  with 
certitude.  "He  sees  it  and  a  thousand  places 
beside." 

They  walked  on,  Mr.  Curtin  gazing  at  river, 
hills,  and  mountains,  and  quiet  valley  floor.  "I 
have  known  of  his  doing  some  splendid  things 
in  life — simple  and  splendid — the  kind  that  steals 
into  folk,  and  they  do  likewise!" 

"Yes,  I  should  think  that." 

"What  is  that  house?" 

"  In  old  times  it  is  the  overseer's  house.  Now 
the  young  farmer  who  helps  him  lives  there." 

"'In  old  times  it  is1 — that's  an  unusual 
phrase." 

"I  mean  that  to  me,  for  reasons,  it  stays  that 

way  and  is." 

46 


SWEET  ROCKET 

"I  agree!  When  you  turn  to  a  thing  it  is. 
Turn  with  decision  enough,  and  your  overseer 
would  come  out  to  meet  you.  That's  a  sycamore 
for  you!  Do  you  ever  feel  the  Indians  by  these 
streams?  If  you  can  see  your  overseer  you  can 
see  your  Indians,  too." 

They  walked  on.     "Is  that  the  house?" 

"Yes." 

"It's  a  simple  place,  too — but  I  like  it. 
Houses,  now!  I  make  a  specialty  of  keeping 
them  in  duration." 

Anna  Darcy  thought,  "A  week  ago  I  wouldn't 
have  understood  that." 

The  house  where  she  was  born,  the  house 
facing,  across  a  row  of  box  and  a  finely  wrought 
iron  paling,  the  old,  leafy  city  square,  walked 
bodily  into  her.  She  was  through  it,  up  and 
down,  like  the  air.  It  seemed  to  her  that  there 
wasn't  anything  she  didn't  know  about  it,  and 
it  all  came  together  into  an  inner  aroma,  taste 
and  tone,  dry,  warm,  pungent  and  likable,  idio- 
syncratic, its  very  own.  It  had  been  a  loss,  a 
grief,  when  the  city  had  taken  and  torn  down 
that  house.  And  all  the  time  it  was  waiting  for 
her,  in  a  deep  reality,  to  walk  in  and  take 
possession ! 

She  thought:  "What  is  happening?  I  shall 
never  be  lonely  again!" 

Mr.  Curtin  looked  from  side  to  side  of  Sweet 
Rocket  valley.  "It's  like  a  beaker  of  Venetian 
glass !  You'd  say  there  was  a  magic  drink  in  it. 

47 


SWEET  ROCKET 

.  .  .  But  how  clean  and  drenched  with  sun  is  this 
air!" 

"Yes!" 

"He  never  married?  Archer  said  he  thought 
not." 

"No,  he  didn't  marry." 

"He's  rather  the  kind  that  marries  the  world." 

"Yes,  I  think  so.  We  turn  here  to  the  house. 
Have  you  the  time?" 

"It's  almost  noon." 

"He  will  be  home,  then.  He  works  upon  the 
farm  as  though  he  had  eyes." 

They  left  the  pebbly  beach  and  went  by  the 
cedars  up  to  the  house.  Tarn  came  to  meet 
them,  and  Linden  rose  from  the  bench  upon  the 
porch. 


VI 


A  ND  so  he  was  killed,"  said  Curtin,  speak- 
2\  ing  with  strongly  controlled  emotion. 
"And  I  can  tell  you  that  when  I  heard  it  I  felt 
physically  that  shock  and  crash  and  mortal 
bruising.  It  wasn't  only  my  heart  that  was 
wounded.  My  nerves  and  my  flesh  felt  it. 
Even  now  I  think  that  there  must  be  but  one 
body —  I  got  away  for  a  time  after  he  was 
buried.  I  went  down  to  Hyeres.  I  used  to  sit 
there  by  the  sea.  He  was  a  lovable  fellow, 
square  as  they  make  them.  We  were  brothers 
and  friends,  too.  Well,  that  is  the  way  it  runs ! 
Life — death.  Life — death !  I  would  give  a  good 
deal—" 

He  had  been  thirty-odd  hours  at  Sweet  Rocket. 
They  had  sent  up  mountain  to  Cliff,  who  took 
down  to  his  camp  news  that  he  would  be  gone 
for  some  days.  They  had  given  him  the  room 
next  to  Linden,  and  he  had  become  at  once 
delightfully  at  home. 

When  with  Miss  Darcy  he  had  stepped  upon 
the  porch  Linden  had  said:  "Don't  think  you 
take  me  by  surprise !  I  saw  you  in  my  looking- 
glass  this  morning ! ' ' 

49 


SWEET  ROCKET 

"It  is  good  to  find  you  again,  Linden!  What 
do  you  mean  by  your  looking-glass?" 

Linden  laughed,  his  hands  upon  the  old  class- 
mate's shoulders.  "Only  that  I  had  been  think- 
ing of  you.  And  the  other  night  I  was  with  you 
by  the  Sea  of  Azof.  I  thought, '  I  should  like  to 
see  him  again!'  And  you  know  yourself  that 
when  you  make  a  current  boats  appear  upon  it ! " 

Now,  as  the  four  sat  about  the  fire  in  the  big 
parlor,  before  the  lamp  was  lighted,  he  had  been 
telling  of  the  death  of  his  brother,  an  aviator. 
There  had  followed  silence;  then,  "Well,  let  us 
talk  of  something  else!"  said  Curtin.  He  took 
up  the  pipe  he  had  laid  upon  the  hearth  beside 
him,  and  raking  out  a  coal  from  the  fire,  relit 
it.  "What  do  you  think  is  going  to  happen  now, 
Linden?" 

They  sat  and  talked,  and  the  flames  leaped, 
many  and  small,  in  the  mahogany  of  the  room. 
At  ten  they  rose  to  separate  for  the  night. 

"Come  look  at  the  sky,"  said  Linden.  "The 
first  week  in  October,  and  diamond  clear!" 
They  went  out  to  the  porch,  and  then,  so  majes- 
tic was  the  night,  to  the  sweep  before  the  house, 
whence  they  might  see  the  great  expanse.  It 
was  very  still.  The  river  sounded,  but  the  air 
rested  a  thin  and  moveless  veil.  It  was  not 
cold.  Richard  Linden  stood  bareheaded,  his 
face  uplifted  to  the  vault  that  writes  forever  its 
runes  before  men. 

"By   George!     I   forgot!"   thought   Curtin. 


SWEET  ROCKET 

"But  doubtless  he  knows  them  so  well  that  he 
knows  where  they  are,  season  by  season."  It 
seemed  that  it  might  be  so.  Linden  spoke  as 
though  he  saw.  "See  the  Pleiades  and  Capella 
and  Aldebaran!  The  Great  Square  is  at  its 
height.  The  Cross  and  the  Eagle  and  the  Lyre. 
The  mountains  hide  Fomalhaut."  They  walked 
a  little  way  upon  the  road.  Immense  and  tin- 
gling was  that  view,  looking  outward,  looking 
inward,  upon  those  stars.  At  last  they  came 
indoors  and  said  good  night. 

Martin  Curtin  lay  in  a  big  four-poster  bed 
and  stared  out  of  window.  Upon  going  to  bed 
he  had  slept  quickly  and  soundly.  Now  he  was 
awake,  and  he  thought  it  might  be  past  four  of 
the  morning.  He  felt  the  subtle  turn  toward 
the  day.  He  heard  a  dog  bark  and  a  cock  crow. 
He  was  aware  that  he  had  waked  suddenly  and 
completely.  He  was  wide  awake,  and  more  than 
that.  There  was  a  keenness,  an  awareness; 
keen,  sharpened,  but  also  wide.  His  body  lying 
very  still,  he  began  to  remember,  but  it  was 
remembering  with  a  deeper  and  fuller  pulse  than 
was  ordinarily  the  case.  He  remembered  that 
younger  brother  who  was  dead,  and  not  him 
alone,  but  many  another,  kindred  and  friends 
and  associates.  The  past  lived  again,  but  lived 
with  a  difference.  What  multitudes  of  kindred, 
and  friends,  and  associates!  The  meeting  went 
deep  and  wide.  Had  he  touched  all  those  in  one 
life  or  had  it  been  in  many  lives?  Was  the 


SWEET  ROCKET    , 

whole  texture  coming  alive,  and  in  effect  did  it 
include  the  whole  past,  the  whole  dead  and  gone? 
However  it  might  be,  it  was  a  world  transmuted 
and  without  pain.  He  lay  still,  regarding  it. 
It  was  strong  and  light,  and  he  and  it  grew 
together  with  a  sense  of  frictionlessness,  of  ex- 
quisite relief,  even  with  a  kind  of  golden  humor- 
ousness.  None  had  been  truly  any  better  or 
worse  than  another,  nor  in  any  way  miracu- 
lously different,  and  now  they  could  understand 
and  laugh  together!  The  sense  of  union  was 
exquisite,  and  the  sense  of  variousness  hardly 
less  so.  The  variousness  was  without  hostility. 
It  glided  and  turned  smoothly,  much  as  personal 
thought  and  mood  might  glide  and  turn.  The 
sense  of  well-being  flowed  in  every  realm.  The 
perception  included  environment.  Remembered, 
recalled  persons  meant  remembered,  recalled 
houses,  towns,  country,  forest  and  river,  fields 
and  gardens,  a  thousand,  thousand  places! 
Where  were  they  all?  They  were  all  over  the 
earth — light  and  golden — loved  places  and  the 
right  people  in  them!  There  was  nothing  rigid 
— even  the  places  understood  one  another.  Cur- 
tin  felt  a  profound  happiness.  This  one  body, 
lying  at  Sweet  Rocket,  was  not  wholly  forgot 
nor  relinquished.  It  came  into  the  pattern  of 
variousness.  But  Curtin  himself  was  moving  in 
a  wider  consciousness.  All  these  people,  all  these 
selves  of  himself!  and  he  understood  their  old 
difficulties  and  he  understood  their  old  misunder- 

S2 


SWEET  ROCKET 

standings.  The  piece  understood,  the  beautiful 
tissue !  The  music  understood,  the  notes  moving 
so  richly  together!  It  was  throbbing  in  the 
present  and  in  the  understood,  the  appropriated 
past.  He  never  thought,  "How  grotesque  the 
thought  that  we  are  dead!"  The  thought  could 
not  even  occur. 

For  one  flash,  for  less  than  an  instant,  the 
plane  lifted.  There  started  forth  a  high,  a  tre- 
mendous sense  of  unity — Presence.  It  towered, 
it  overflowed  him,  he  was  of  it — then  the  instant 
closed.  As  it  had  come  like  a  towering  wave, 
so  it  sank  like  a  wave.  But  there  was  left  the 
lasting  thrill  of  it,  and  there  was  left  undying 
aspiration.  "Ah,  to  find  it  again!  Ah,  if  it  will 
come  again!" 

Where  had  been  sense  of  the  whole,  again 
befell  fragmentariness.  Loss — great  loss — and 
yet  was  there  falling  sweetness,  exquisiteness 
still  of  order !  He  felt  again  the  wide  world  that 
they  said  was  dead,  and  yet  surely  was  no  such 
thing.  There  happened  again  wide  and  subtle 
change.  Out  of  a  stillness,  a  silence,  an  isolation, 
exquisite  and  tingling,  a  state  of  clarity  and 
poise,  one  spoke  to  him  within,  "Martin!" 

He  answered  in  that  space.  "Yes,  John.  .  .  . 
No,  grief  is  absurd!  .  .  .  Just  because  we're 
ignorant!" 

"You  can  be  content.    We  can  be  content." 

"Yes,  I  see!  We  are  all  in  one,  who  cannot 
be  destroyed." 

53 


SWEET  ROCKET 

There  came  no  more,  but  the  world  was  a 
rhythm,  swinging,  swinging.  There  reigned 
great  rest  and  calm.  Out  of  this,  with  much  of 
it  yet  clinging,  he  sank  to  the  square,  clean, 
sparely  furnished  bedroom  at  Sweet  Rocket, 
with  the  cock  crowing,  with  the  old  clock  in  the 
lower  hall  striking  five.  Curtin  lay  very  quiet 
in  the  big  bed.  Dawn  was  coming,  but  his  sense 
was  that  of  an  afterglow.  He  had  felt  beauty 
and  still  wonder  like  this  in  high  mountains, 
watching  Alpine  glow.  It  faded  and  faded,  but 
there  was  left  with  him  assurance,  rest,  the  sense 
of  a  dawn  to  be,  a  consciousness  behind  this 
consciousness,  another  consciousness  towering, 
sun-gilt,  in  the  future.  He  lay  very  still,  at  rest, 
hardly  wondering.  The  great  things,  the  beau- 
tiful things,  were  the  natural  things.  The  wholly 
full  and  blissful  would  be  the  finally  natural. 
Dawn  came  in  rose  and  amethyst. 

When  it  was  full  light  Curtin  left  his  bed, 
dressed,  and  went  downstairs.  He  thought  that 
he  would  walk  by  the  river  or  in  the  garden. 
The  house  was  still,  the  front  door  open.  Early 
though  it  was,  he  found  Linden  on  the  porch 
starting  forth  with  Tarn.  He  had  found,  he 
said,  that  he  must  see  Roger  Carter,  who  was 
riding  to-day  to  Alder  and  would  be  starting 
presently.  "Will  you  walk  with  me?  But  you 
shouldn't  miss  your  breakfast.  I've  had  bread 
and  milk." 

"I  won't  go  now,"  answered  Curtin.     "I'll 

54 


SWEET  ROCKET 

walk  up  and  down  before  the  house  for  a  while. 
Something  happened  to  me  last  night,  or  I  hap- 
pened into  something.  I'd  like  to  talk  to  you 
about  it,  Linden — but  it  won't  fade  before  you 
come  back.  I  don't  indeed  think  it  will  ever 
fade." 

There  was  that  in  Linden's  remembered  face, 
when  Linden  himself  had  gone  away  toward 
Roger  Carter's,  that  made  Curtin  think,  walking 
now  before  the  house  as  they  had  walked  the 
night  before  under  the  stars:  "Does  he  know 
what  I  felt?  Could  he  even  have  helped — put 
a  shoulder  to  the  wheel,  seeing  that  I  was 
grieved  and  uncertain?"  Not  so  long  ago  he 
might  have  answered,  "That's  fantastic!"  but 
he  did  not  so  answer  now. 

He  went  into  the  garden  and  walked  up  and 
down.  Before  seven  Marget  came  out  to  him. 
"I  saw  you  walking  in  the  dawn  like  a  man  in 
a  ballad.  Could  you  not  sleep?" 

"I  slept  till  nearly  five." 

They  walked  by  the  late  asters  and  the  stocks. 
Said  Curtin:  "I  remember  aline  of  Masefield's: 

"...  the  dim  room  had  mind,  and  seemed  to  brood. 

And  again: 

"And  felt  the  hillside  thronged  by  souls  unseen 
Who  knew  the  interest  in  me  and  were  keen 
That  man  alive  should  understand  man  dead. 

Miss  Land,  do  you  think  that  is  true?" 

55 


SWEET  ROCKET 

"Yes.     Surely." 

"  Do  you  think  we  can  be  reassured  about  the 
dead — all  the  dead — and  ourselves  when  we  die?" 

"Yes,  I  do.    Very  safe,  very  sure." 

"Well,  I  think  so  this  morning." 

They  walked  by  the  marigolds  and  larkspur. 
"Where  do  you  meet  the  dead?  In  this  space? " 
He  indicated  it  with  a  wide  gesture. 

"No.  In  space  that  permeates  this  space. 
In  added  space.  When  and  where  we  make 
space.  Though  I  think,"  said  Marget,  "that 
one  day  the  edges  will  have  so  flowed  together 
that  we  shall  say  'in  this  space." 

"You  and  Richard  Linden  both  have  that 
assurance?" 

"Yes.  Many  have  it  now."  She  added,  "I 
think,  perhaps,  that  it  is  more  easily  felt  in  some 
places  than  in  others." 

He  thought,  "As  we  put  telescopes  on 
heights." 

They  walked  by  the  wall  with  the  ivy.  Her 
quiet,  dark  eyes  were  upon  him,  friendly, 
kindly.  He  thought:  "No  less  than  Linden  she 
hoped  such  a  night  for  me.  Perhaps — " 

A  bell  rang.  "That  is  for  us.  Miss  Darcy, 
too,  comes  down  early  now." 

They  went  indoors.  Anna  Darcy  met  them 
in  the  hall  and  they  went  together  into  the  bright 
dining  room,  to  their  pleasant  breakfast,  and 
Zinia  waiting,  with  "that  girl  Mercy"  still  at 
heart. 

56 


VII 


THE  next  day  was  Sunday.  Zinia  and  Mirny 
and  Mancy  walked  early  to  their  church, 
two  miles  down  the  river.  Marget  and  Miss 
Darcy,  Linden  and  Curtin,  went  to  Alder  in  the 
phaeton,  drawn  by  Daniel  and  Bess.  It  was  as 
sunny  and  still  a  day  as  might  be  found  in  any 
autumn  land,  and  most  beauteous  was  that 
forest  through  which  they  drove.  Anna  Darcy 
was  glad  to  see  it  again.  It  rested  forever  in  her 
mind,  a  true  magic  approach.  Marget  drove, 
Curtin  sitting  beside  her,  Miss  Darcy  and  Rich- 
ard Linden  behind  them.  The  jewel  miles  went 
by  and  the  pleasant,  pleasant  air.  Here  rose 
Alder  on  a  green  hill,  and  Alder  had  three 
streets,  a  hundred  dwelling  houses,  and  three 
white-spired  churches.  The  houses  were  brick 
or  frame,  with  shady  yards  and  late-blooming 
flowers.  They  drove  by  a  small,  quaint  court- 
house, a  rambling  hotel,  and  several  stores, 
closed  to-day.  The  trees  were  maples  and  Lom- 
bardy  poplars  and  a  few  ancient  mulberries. 
Folk  were  going  to  church,  and  they  spoke  to 
Sweet  Rocket  and  Sweet  Rocket  to  them. 
Before  them  rose  a  church  of  white  frame,  set 

57 


SWEET  ROCKET 

in  an  ample  churchyard,  all  glowing  maples 
with  a  mosaic  of  red  and  gold  leaves  underfoot. 
Street  before  it  and  bordering  lane  held  horses 
and  buggies  and  Fords  and  Buicks.  The  second 
bell  had  not  rung.  Men  and  boys  waited  around 
the  doors,  talk  and  laughter  at  a  Sunday  pitch. 
Women  were  entering,  some  with  children  in 
their  hands.  Sweet  Rocket  folk,  leaving  the 
phaeton,  walking  up  churchyard  path,  took  and 
gave  greeting.  They  entered  the  church,  Mar- 
get's  hand  upon  Linden's  arm,  just  guiding  him 
to  a  pleasant  pew  by  a  pleasant,  open  window, 
the  weather  being  yet  so  warm.  Curtin  took 
his  seat,  and,  turning  a  little,  watched  the  folk 
enter.  He  did  not  know  when  he  had  been  in 
a  village  church  like  this,  nor,  indeed,  had  he 
been  for  long  in  any  church  at  all,  barring  the 
cathedrals  and  churches  abroad,  into  which  he 
went  as  artist.  A  clear,  sweet  sound,  overhead, 
rang  the  second  bell.  Men  and  youths  came  in ; 
the  building  filled.  A  simple  place,  it  was  well 
proportioned  and  to-day  filled  with  a  dreamy, 
golden,  softened  light.  In  that  soft,  flowing 
atmosphere,  men  and  women  and  children  were 
gathered  as  in  a  bouquet.  The  choir  assembled, 
the  young  woman  who  was  the  organist  took 
her  place.  A  woman  in  the  pew  behind  Curtin 
leaned  over  and  gave  him  an  opened  hymn  book. 
The  minister  appeared,  a  kindly  faced,  small, 
elderly  man.  The  bouquet  became  more  and 
more  Sunday. 

58 


SWEET  ROCKET 

Curtin  glanced  at  Linden.  He  sat  as  always, 
with  ease,  and  a  certain  still  power.  He  seemed 
to  Curtin  as  simple  and  whole  as  a  planet  in  the 
sky.  This  village  Methodist  church  seemed 
within  his  frontier,  as,  when  you  thought  of  it, 
all  other  places  seemed  within  it.  Curtin  re- 
membered. They  were  talking,  he  and  Linden, 
in  Odessa,  in  their  hotel,  after  having  been  to  a 
great  service  in  a  great  church.  Linden  was 
telling  him  that  Religion  held  all  religions,  and 
that  he,  Linden,  belonged  solely  to  no  one 
church,  but  liked  at  times  to  go  sit  in  any  one  of 
them.  He  had  gone  on  to  say  other  things,  but 
Curtin — and  Curtin  remembered  this  with  a  cer- 
tain pang — had  yawned,  and  said  that  it  had 
been  a  tiring  day  and  that  he  would  off  to  bed. 
"My  God,  I  was  crass  in  those  years!"  thought 
Curtin.  He  still  watched  Linden,  who  could 
not  know  that  he  was  being  watched;  and  at 
the  thought  Linden  turned  his  head  and  smiled 
at  him.  His  face  said  as  distinctly  as  if  his 
voice  had  uttered  it,  "Yes,  that  night  at 
Odessa!" 

Again  Curtin,  startled  at  first,  felt  the  star- 
tling vanish.  He  thought — and,  as  on  last  night, 
his  thought  seemed  to  lay  hold  upon  and  give 
form  to  a  down-draught  from  some  upper  region 
— "Truly  the  startling  should  be  over  mind 
broken  from  mind,  not  over  mind  beginning  to 
heal!" 

He  sat  in  a  deep  study.    There  came  like  a 

59 


SWEET  ROCKET 

picture  into  his  mind  Jesus  of  Nazareth's  para- 
ble of  the  talents.  ' '  Ability  to  perceive  thought ! 
If  the  world  should  take  that  talent  and  improve 
it,  a  different  world  we  should  have  anon!" 

"Let  us  pray,"  said  the  minister.  When  they 
had  prayed,  he  said,  "Let  us  sing  hymn  num- 
ber—" 

They  sang: 

"Sun  of  my  soul,  thou  Saviour  dear, 
It  is  not  night  if  thou  be  near — " 

"I  will  read,"  said  the  minister,  "from  the 
twenty-fifth  chapter  of  the  Gospel  according  to 
Matthew." 

Curtin  heard  read  the  parable  of  the  talents. 
He  thought:  "Intercommunication.  It  widens 
and  deepens  and  heightens  perpetually.  Now 
it  gets  to  be  wireless,  independent  of  gesture  or 
the  vocal  cords,  or  the  handwriting."  There 
thronged  echoes  of  his  experience  of  the  other 
night.  "Intercommunication  becomes  com- 
munion. Communion  becomes  identity.  At 
last  'we  know  even  as  we  are  known." 

The  reading  ended.     They  sang 

"Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me." 

All  the  congregation  sang;  men,  women,  and 
children's  piping  voices.  They  sat  down.  The 
minister  took  his  text  from  the  parable  he  had 
read. 

60 


SWEET  ROCKET 

It  was  a  good,  plain  sermon,  in  which  the 
preacher  said  more  than  he  knew  he  said.  The 
air  came  in  at  window,  bees  buzzed  without, 
a  brown  butterfly  passed.  The  congregation 
breathed  gently,  rhythmically.  The  sun  gave 
life  to  the  flowers  upon  the  women's  and  the 
children's  hats.  There  were  young  faces  and 
old  faces,  dull  faces  and  quick  faces,  intent  faces 
and  wandering  faces.  Some  were  rich  flowers, 
and  others  little  flowers  not  far  from  weeds,  but 
all  were  in  the  garden.  Curtin  thought:  "They 
are  like  the  thoughts  and  moods  of  a  man,  many 
and  various,  but  all  in  the  man.  One  Man. 
...  It  was  Balzac  who  said,  '  There  is  but  one 
animal.'  One  Man — his  name  Adam-Eve,  or 
Humanity,  as  you  choose — or,  perhaps,  when  he 
finds  himself,  his  name  is  Christ." 

He  looked  again  at  Linden,  sitting  with  that 
pleased  and  quiet  light  upon  his  face.  The  ser- 
mon was  not  extraordinary,  the  congregation 
the  average  village  and  country  congregation, 
the  church  had  no  especial  grace  of  interior  or 
exterior.  Linden  was  not  habit-bound  to  it,  he 
did  not  hug  the  letter  of  its  creed.  Any  one  of 
those  around  might  say:  "No,  he  does  not  be- 
long to  any  church — which  is  a  great  pity !  No, 
it  isn't  his  church."  Yet  Curtin  saw  that  Lin- 
den, sitting  there,  loved  this  place,  the  feel  of  the 
folk  around  him,  the  sense  of  what  they  were 
doing,  were  striving  to  do,  and,  on  the  whole, 
were  slowly  doing.  He  comprehended  that  to 
5  61 


SWEET  ROCKET 

Linden  it  was  very  simply  his  own,  as  were  the 
other  two  churches  of  Alder,  and  the  colored 
church  down  the  river,  and  the  Greek  church 
at  Odessa.  He  saw  that  Linden's  possessive  was 
large — Linden's  and  Marget  Land's. 

Miss  Darcy  sat  very  still,  her  thin  hands 
crossed  in  her  lap.  At  first  she  had  listened  to 
the  sermon,  but  now  she  was  in  the  old  church 
in  the  old  city,  and  there  was  another  congrega- 
tion around  her,  and  another  clergyman,  a  kins- 
man, in  the  pulpit.  At  first  it  was  like  opening 
a  potpourri  jar,  and  then  warmth  and  light  came 
back  to  the  rose  leaves.  "I  am  there,  they  are 
here!  Never  could  I  do  this  or  feel  this  until 
now — or  I  did  it  so  weakly  and  palely  that  it 
did  not  seem  to  count!" 

The  sermon  ended.  "Let  us  pray.  .  .  .  Let 
us  sing."  Benediction  followed,  then  a  moment's 
pause,  and  then  the  folk  turned  from  the  pews 
and  moved  slowly  toward  the  doors.  There 
were  greetings  for  Sweet  Rocket,  and  Sweet 
Rocket  greeted  in  return.  All  had  a  grace  of 
friendliness.  Anna  Darcy  thought:  "That  is 
another  thing  that  has  come  or  is  coming !  What 
does  it  matter  now  if  your  name  is  or  is  not  on 
the  register  of  a  church?  It  didn't  use  to  be  so. 
Something  gracious  and  understanding,  invisibly 
binding,  is  coming!"  She  thought:  "Those  two 
are  the  most  beautiful  here,  but  in  their  degree 
all  are  beautiful.  And  all  move  on  to  completer 

beauty.    Oh,  life  is  coming  alive!" 

62 


SWEET  ROCKET 

They  drove  through  Alder  and  by  Alder  high- 
way, and  at  last  upon  that  lovely  forest  road  to 
Sweet  Rocket.  Curtin  and  Linden  fell  to  talk 
of  their  student  days,  of  such  and  such  teachers 
and  mates,  and  such  and  such  happenings.  "I 
had  forgotten  that!"  said  Curtin,  and  again, 
"I  had  forgotten  that!"  At  last  he  said, 
abruptly,  "You've  got  an  astounding  memory!" 

Linden  answered,  "Oh,  we  learn  how  to  use 
and  deepen  memory!"  The  smell  of  the  forest, 
the  voice  of  the  forest,  circled  and  penetrated. 
"I  should  like  to  know  how  you  do  it,"  said 
Curtin. 

"It  is  like  all  other  things.  Practice  makes 
perfect." 

"It  is  not  only  remembering.  You  remember 
with  a  strange  understanding  of  things.  You 
direct  later  light  upon  the  past.  The  line  is 
there,  the  form  is  there,  even  the  color  and  tone, 
but  you  make  it  understood  as  I  am  very  cer- 
tain we  did  not  understand  it  then!  I  see  now 
what  we  were  doing!  It's  intelligent  at  last, 
and  bigger." 

"All  that  you  have,"  said  Linden,  "isn't  too 
much  to  apply  to  the  past.  The  past  has  served 
you,  now  serve  the  past.  Serve  and  redeem! 
Bring  it  up,  even  and  great,  into  the  present! 
To  understand  past  time  is  to  have  present 
power.  Only  by  understanding  it  can  you  love 
it,  unless  you  wish  to  remain  infant  and  love 
with  infant's  love."' 

63 


SWEET  ROCKET 

The  many-hued  woods  went  on,  the  leafy, 
narrow,  remote  road,  the  scents  and  sounds,  the 
miracle  of  many  centered  into  sole  delight.  The 
air  was  so  fine  you  could  gather  what  the  upper 
air  must  be.  Daniel  and  Bess,  the  phaeton,  the 
four,  stepped  and  rolled  through  a  magic  world, 
artist  world  of  the  Ancient  of  Days.  Here  was 
the  river  and  the  flashing  water  of  the  ford. 

That  afternoon  they  walked  upstream  as  far 
as  the  overseer's  house.  It  was  shining,  late 
afternoon.  They  saw,  seated  on  the  porch  and 
the  porch  steps,  Roger  Carter  and  his  wife,  with 
Guy,  her  brother,  who  worked  on  the  farm,  and 
old  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morrowcombe,  her  parents, 
paying  their  Sunday  visit.  A  little  Roger,  three 
years  old,  played  absorbedly  with  a  chinquapin 
string  and  a  rag  doll  that  his  grandmother  had 
brought  him. 

"Let  us  go  across  to  them,"  said  Marget. 
"Just  so  did  my  father  and  mother  use  to  sit." 

Carters  and  Morrowcombes  made  them  wel- 
come. Linden  and  Curtin  sat  upon  the  porch 
steps,  Tarn  beside  them.  Miss  Darcy  now 
played  with  the  young  Roger  and  now  listened 
to  Mrs.  Morrowcombe's  gentle,  flowing  talk  of 
turkeys,  and  rag  carpets,  and  Sam  come  home 
from  the  war.  Mary  Carter  had  dark  eyes  and 
wavy  hair,  bright  color  in  a  round  cheek,  a  shy 
and  tender  smile — a  Murillo  face.  She  sat  hold- 
ing a  year-old  babe,  and  she  talked  shyly  and 
listened  with  intent  eyes.  There  listened,  too, 

64 


SWEET  ROCKET 

old  Mr.  Morrowcombe,  with  a  long,  white 
beard,  and  a  gnarled  hand  resting  on  a  stick 
marvelously  carved  by  himself  in  prison,  long 
ago,  in  the  old  war.  Roger  Carter  proved  a 
quick,  dry  talker,  with  not  a  little  wit  and  power 
of  mimicry.  He  had  a  way  of  throwing  what  he 
saw  and  heard  and  concluded  into  a  homely 
story,  both  telling  and  amusing.  He  seemed  to 
love  to  make  Linden  and  Marget  laugh,  and  they 
loved  to  draw  him  out.  Curtin  saw  with  what 
skill  they  opened  fields  to  him  where  he  might 
rejoice  in  his  talent.  He  saw  how  they  under- 
stood fellowship. 

Presently  Marget  asked  Mary  if  she  might 
take  Miss  Darcy  into  the  house  and  out  on  the 
back  porch  and  to  the  lilac  hedge.  "Certainly, 
Miss  Marget,  you  go  right  in!  It's  all  straight. 
Go  upstairs,  too.  Anywhere  you  like." 

The  two  went.  "This  was  mother's  room. 
Here  I  was  born.  When  I  was  a  little  girl  I 
slept  in  this  tiny  room  next  door.  The  rain  on 
the  roof  drummed  me  to  sleep.  This  was  the 
boys'  room.  This  is  the  back  porch,  where  we 
did  much  of  the  work.  It  is  so  lovely  and  broad ! 
There  is  the  old  well.  Yonder  is  the  lilac  clump 
where  once,  in  May,  I  saw  the  Spirit  of  the 
Lilac." 

When,  half  an  hour  later,  they  walked  home- 
ward along  the  river  bank,  there  renewed  itself 
the  question  of  prolonging  a  visit.  "Well,  I'm 
going  to  stay,  anyhow,"  declared  Curtin.  "I 

65 


SWEET  ROCKET 

like  it  better  here  than  at  that  camp.  If  you 
will  keep  me  a  month — " 

"Oh,  we  will!" 

Anna  Darcy  said:  "I  can't  stay  that  long. 
But  I'll  stay  just  as  long  as  I  can." 

That  matter  settled,  they  walked  on,  quietly, 
in  the  amber  and  violet  hour.  There  was  a 
sound  of  water,  a  smell  of  wood  smoke.  The 
house  rose  before  them,  richly  colored  in  the 
sunset. 


VIII 

THE  weather  changed.  On  the  heel  of  soft 
sunshine  and  quietude  came  autumn  storm, 
wind  and  rain,  lashed  trees,  leaden  and  heav- 
ily sagging  cloud.  In  the  late  afternoon  Zinia 
appeared  at  the  parlor  door.  "Miss  Marget, 
there  are  two  men  on  horseback.  They've 
come  over  Rock  Mountain  and  missed  their  way. 
They  say  it's  getting  late,  and  they  say,  could 
we  take  them  in  for  the  night?" 

"I'll  go  see,"  said  Linden,  and  left  the  room. 

"Of  course  you  will?" 

"Yes,  of  course,"  answered  Marget.  "I  had 
better  go  see  about  the  room."  Curtin  and  Miss 
Darcy,  left  alone,  watched  the  flame.  At  last 
Curtin  said,  abruptly,  "Had  you  ever  thought 
of  humanity  moving  on  into  superhumanity  ?  " 

"I  think  that  I  have  been  blind  and  deaf  to 
a  great  many  things!  I  suppose  I  thought  that 
there  would  be  slow,  general  improvement.  But 
I  did  not  think  of  marked  betterment  here.  I 
thought  of  the  soul  at  death  springing  alive  into 
heaven." 

"Or  hell?" 

"Yes,  we  were  taught  that." 

67 


SWEET  ROCKET 

"And  it  was  going  to  reach  heaven  or  hell  at 
one  stride!  No  degree  here,  no  degree  there!" 

' '  It  was  irrational ! ' ' 

"  Naturally,  being  yet  in  Time,  there  are  those 
ahead.  Some  cross  the  line  earlier  than  others." 

Marget  returned.  "They  are  two  young  men, 
foresters,  I  think,  from  the  government  purchase 
on  Rock  Mountain.  They  are  wet  through. 
Mancy  has  built  them  a  fire  and  Richard  is 
looking  after  them."  She  stood  by  the  window. 
"The  gray  rain  is  chanting  up  and  down  the 
mountains!  Queen  Rain  and  King  Wind!" 

Curtin  put  a  chair  for  her  as  she  came  to  the 
hearth.  She  sat  down,  and  bending  herself, 
looked  into  the  fire.  She  held  her  hands  to  the 
flame  and  appeared  to  gather  it  into  them. 
"The  fire!"  said  Marget,  "the  spirit  that  is 
fire,  that  is  will — that  are  living,  endless  powers, 
the  Host  of  the  Lord!" 

There  fell  a  silence  that  was  voice.  Then 
said  Anna  Darcy :  "  I  have  always  said, '  I  remem- 
ber— I  remember.'  But  since  I  came  to  Sweet 
Rocket  I  have  learned  far  and  away  more  of  how 
to  remember." 

Marget  turned  toward  her  with  a  great  sweet- 
ness. "When  we  have  found  a  good  thing  we 
so  naturally  wish  to  share  it!  Now  you  must 
learn  the  Universal  Man's  present  sharing — and 
his  future  sharing.  You  who  have  always  said, 
'I  remember,'  and  who  have  been  unselfish,  will 

have  little  trouble." 

68 


SWEET  ROCKET 

Her  look  included  Curtin,  who  sat  staring  into 
the  fire.  He  drew  a  long  breath.  "Two  weeks 
ago  I  should  have  said  that  adventure  and  youth 
had  passed  from  my  life." 

' '  You  are  just  beginning  to  find  them !  Hence- 
forth you  will  find  rest  and  romance,  salt  in  life 
and  the  true  wine  and  the  uncloying  honey  and 
the  bread  of  right  wheat.  You  will  find  water 
of  Moses's  spring,  and  the  Burning  Bush." 

The  rain  and  the  wind  sang  against  the  pane. 
The  fire  made  shape  upon  shape.  The  high,  in- 
ward vibration  lowered,  but  it  left  a  memory  of 
itself.  There  was  the  Jericho  rose  in  the  sandal 
box  to  say,  "When  there  comes  moisture  again 
to  my  root,  then  shall  I  bloom  again!" 

Linden  entered  the  parlor  with  the  two  guests, 
now  with  dried  clothing,  rested  and  refreshed. 
It  was  growing  dusk.  The  room  looked  warm 
and  bright  to  them,  a  happy  haven  after  a  bat- 
tering day.  They  were  young  men;  twenty- 
seven,  twenty-nine,  forestry  graduates,  resum- 
ing forestry  after  an  interlude  of  war.  Linden 
presented  them.  "Mr.  Randall — Mr.  Drew." 

The  evening  closed  in  stormy.  They  had 
supper,  a  small  bright  feast,  with  talk  and 
laughter.  Randall  proved  lively,  good  company. 
Drew  was  much  the  quieter  of  the  two.  Sup- 
per over,  they  returned  to  the  big  parlor  and 
the  generous  fire.  The  boy  Jim  had  brought  in 
a  great  armful  of  wood.  It  was  a  night  to  heap 

logs,  as  the  rain  drummed  against  the  pane. 

69 


SWEET  ROCKET 

Randall  was  talkative.    He  flowed  like  a  moun- 
tain stream,  trilled  like  a  care-free  bird. 

Forests  and  forestry  came  into  the  room.  It 
appeared  that  both  had  had  from  childhood  a 
taste,  not  to  say  a  passion,  for  woodland  life. 
Randall  had  lived  in  the  country,  so  it  came 
natural.  But  Drew  had  lived  in  a  city.  But 
forests  were  a  passion  with  him;  he  had  to  get 
into  them,  and  did  so  at  every  chance,  and  at 
last  left  for  good  a  clerkship  in  a  stockbroker's 
office,  and  scraped  together  enough  for  that 
course  in  a  forestry  school.  This  gave  him  sur- 
face learning,  but  he  exhibited  a  deeper  know- 
ingness,  gained  somewhere.  "Drew's  like  an 
Indian  in  the  woods!" 

"No.     Not  like  an  Indian,"  said  Drew. 

Linden  asked,  "Like  whom,  then?" 

He  sat  in  a  corner  of  the  great  fireplace,  Tarn, 
who  came  indoors  upon  nights  like  these,  lying 
at  his  feet.  "Drew,"  said  Randall,  "tell  them 
about  that  night  in  France!  He's  got  a  curious 
story.  He  won't  tell  it  to  everybody.  But  I 
don't  know — somehow  we're  all  at  home  here." 
His  quick  song  went  on.  "You  see,  my  folk  and 
Drew's  are  English.  We're  just  a  generation 
from  fields  and  things  that  we've  heard  about  all 
our  lives.  So  when  England  went  in,  we  thought 
we'd  better  go  over,  and  we  did.  We  were  in 
the  same  company,  and  this  was  before  Verdun. 
Go  on,  now,  Drew!" 

Drew  began  at  once,  without  prelude,  his  eyes 

70 


SWEET  ROCKET 

upon  the  blind  man.  "It  was  something  that 
happened  to  me.  Sometimes  I  think  that  it  was 
a  dream,  and  then  I  know  that  it  wasn't.  I'm 
more  and  more  certain  as  time  goes  on  that  it 
wasn't.  I've  got  a  kind  of  feeling  about  Reality, 
that  we  are  like  swallows  skimming  it.  I  sup- 
pose that  now  and  then  a  swallow  tumbles  into 
it.  Well,  it  was  a  big,  dark  wood,  fairly  early 
in  the  war.  A  detachment,  sent  we  did  not 
know  by  whom  nor  for  what,  moved  through  it 
from  one  station  to  another.  I  was  second 
lieutenant.  Well,  there  came  news  of  a  trap, 
and  most  of  us  turned  off  in  a  hurry,  out  of  that 
wood.  But — I  don't  to  this  day  know  how  it 
was — as  many  as  twenty  were  away  from  the 
rest,  sent  to  find  out  something,  somewhere.  It 
was  night,  and  there  was  no  path.  We  got  the 
warning,  too,  and  we  swung  round  and  tried  to 
get  back  to  the  main  body.  There  came  a  spat- 
tering of  shot.  There  were  men  besides  ourselves 
in  that  wood.  They  rose  like  partridges  and 
struck  like  hawks.  We  struck  back.  There  was 
fighting.  Something  came  down  on  my  head 
like  a  falling  tree.  I  remember  that  I  thought 
it  was  a  falling  tree.  Then  everything  went 
black,  and  it  seemed  both  a  long  time  and  a 
short  time  till  dawn. 

"It  came  at  last,  dawn.  I  sat  up,  and  it  had 
been  a  falling  tree.  My  forehead  had  an  aching 
lump  and  a  gash,  but  luckily  just  a  branch  had 
struck  me  and  I  had  rolled  clear.  It  was  a  very 

71 


SWEET  ROCKET 

old  oak,  brought  down  by  the  high  wind.  Upon 
the  branch  beside  me  was  growing  mistletoe. 
I  wouldn't  touch  it,  for  I  thought,  '  It  is  not  for 
me  to  touch  it,  but  surely  it  saved  my  life!' 
There  was  gray  light,  and  one  red  streak  far 
down  the  forest  where,  after  a  time,  would  be 
the  sun.  And  then  I  remembered  that  it  was 
Lutwyn  who  had  saved  my  life,  crying  out,  and 
pushing  me  away,  where  I  had  thrown  myself 
down  for  one  moment's  rest.  I  looked  beyond 
the  mistletoe  and  I  saw  that  the  tree  had  caught 
and  pinned  down  a  man.  I  crept  on  hands  and 
knees,  for  I  was  dizzy  yet,  and  I  found  Lutwyn. 
He  lay  pale  and  twitching,  his  leg  and  part  of 
his  body  under  the  trunk  of  the  oak.  It  was 
very  still  and  lonely  in  the  forest,  and  the  first 
cold  light  made  me  shiver,  and  I  was  afraid  of 
the  mistletoe,  so  near.  I  got  Lutwyn  from  under 
the  tree,  and  it  took  all  my  strength  to  do  it. 
The  spring  that  we  called  Red  Deer  was  hardly  a 
spear  throw  away.  I  had  on  a  cap  of  otter  skin, 
and  I  filled  this  with  water  and  brought  it  back 
to  Lutwyn.  When  I  had  dashed  it  over  his  face 
and  put  it  between  his  lips,  he  sighed,  and  came 
to  himself,  opening  his  eyes  and  trying  to  sit  up. 
He  said,  'I  thought  it  would  catch  you,  and  I 
tried  to  thrust  you  out  of  its  way — ' 

"I  said:  'Are  you  badly  hurt?  Can  you 
walk?' 

"He  tried,  but  he  could  only  drag  himself  a 
little  way,  holding  by  a  branch  of  the  tree.  The 

72 


SWEET  ROCKET 

light  had  grown  stronger,  the  red  line  down  the 
forest  was  a  red  splash.  We  were  both  thinking 
of  Guthlac  and  his  men,  who  were  after  us  be- 
cause, being  outlaws,  we  had  set  upon  and 
stopped  a  bullock  wagon  and  helped  ourselves. 
We  had  strong  belief  that  when  they  found  us 
they  would  hang  us.  We  had  no  great  start  of 
them. 

"Lutwynsaid:  'You  go  on,  Oswy!  I'll  make 
myself  at  home  here,  by  the  mistletoe.' 

"That  couldn't  be.  I  couldn't  carry  him.  He 
was,  if  anything,  a  little  taller  and  larger  than  I. 
He  tried  again  to  move,  but  it  was  not  his  leg 
alone;  his  body  had  been  hurt,  terribly  hurt,  I 
now  saw.  He  could  not  make  a  step.  It  was 
I  who  drew  him  back  to  the  tree.  He  settled 
down  into  the  hollow  made  by  the  trunk  and  a 
bough,  and  I  looked  at  his  hurts,  but  could  do  lit- 
tle for  them.  I  saw  that  they  were  filled  with 
danger.  The  mistletoe  grew  so  near  him.  I 
looked  at  it,  and  I  wished  it  would  heal.  Lutwyn 
said:  'Now  you  go  on,  Oswy!  I  don't  want 
you  to  be  hanged.'  I  said,  '  Save  your  breath ! ' 
and  sat  down  beside  him.  We  rested  side  by 
side  against  the  tree,  and  he  said  that  he  was 
not  in  pain,  but  only  now  and  then  drowsy.  He 
was  very  clear  in  his  mind  and  wanted  to  talk. 
I  listened  for  Guthlac  and  his  men,  and  looked 
at  the  mistletoe.  The  sun  was  up  now  and  it 
was  growing  gold — the  mistletoe — a  great  bunch 
of  it.  I  did  not  hear  Guthlac.  It  was  likely  to 

73 


SWEET  ROCKET 

be  some  time  before  they  found  us,  having  to 
wait  till  day  to  see  our  track.  Now  and  then  I 
felt  Guthlac's  rope  around  my  neck.  And  then 
I  looked  at  the  mistletoe,  and  it  seemed  to  be 
growing  by  Woden's  chair.  Then  Lutwyn  came 
awake  again  and  we  talked.  We  were  twin 
brothers.  We  talked  of  when  we  were  boys,  and 
of  our  mother,  and  Lutwyn  the  Strong,  our 
father,  and  of  places  we  had  seen  and  the  earth 
we  had  trod .  The  Earth  that  was  us ,  we  thought , 
springing  up  in  us  all  toward  Father  Sun.  And 
all  the  wrong  that  we  had  done  went  away,  and 
the  mistletoe  grew  more  golden.  He  drowsed 
away  for  longer  and  longer  times. 

"Far  away  I  heard  Guthlac's  horn.  It  blew, 
and  another  answered.  They  had  found  our 
track  and  were  drawing  together.  Lutwyn 
waked,  and  heard  it,  too.  'But  there's  another 
horn  for  me,'  he  said.  'Don't  you  hear  that 
one?'  He  had  slipped  from  the  hollow  of  the 
oak  and  his  head  was  on  my  knee.  The  horn 
blew  louder  and  nearer.  The  mistletoe  was  all 
golden.  I  could  feel  Guthlac's  rope  around  my 
neck.  But  I  was  glad  they  would  not  hang 
Lutwyn.  He  was  dead. 

"The  horn  blew  louder  in  the  wood.  I  heard 
them  shouting.  The  mistletoe  was  burning  gold. 
I  said,  'Woden,  Woden!  we  be  brothers,  Lutwyn 
and  me!'  They  broke  upon  us,  shouting,  and 
all  went  black — " 

Drew  stopped  speaking.  He  sat  bent  over, 

74 


SWEET  ROCKET 

looking  at  the  fire.  Putting  down  a  hand  he 
stroked  Tarn.  Straightening  himself,  he  looked 
at  Linden  and  Marget.  "All  that  was  actual," 
he  said.  "Just  as  actual,  just  as  real,  just  as 
day  and  night  and  earthly  and  conscious  as  this 
room  and  the  fire  and  we  six  and  the  dog!" 

He  made  a  movement  toward  Randall.  "You 
tell  the  rest." 

Randall's  voice  came  in.  "The  detachment 
drove  the  Germans  out  of  the  wood  and  chased 
them  a  good  long  way.  It  was  dawn  when  we 
stopped  and  went  back  to  gather  up  our  hurt 
and  dead.  There  were  a  dozen  dead,  Germans 
and  us,  and  a  good  many  hurt,  all  scattered 
through  that  wood  that  was  full  of  big  trees. 
We  found  Drew  propped  against  a  very  great, 
old,  fallen  tree.  He  had  been  struck  over  the 
head  in  the  hand-to-hand  fighting  and  had  a 
cut  or  two  besides.  Nothing  odd  in  that,  but 
what  was  odd  was  that  he  was  cherishing  a  dead 
German — had  his  head  lying  on  his  knee!  Of 
course,  enemies  lying  as  close  as  lovers  wasn't 
any  novelty!  But  Drew  had  crept  some  little 
way  to  this  man,  and  had  tried  to  stop  his 
bleeding,  all  there  in  the  dark,  and  had  given 
him  water,  and  then  had  gathered  him  into  his 
arms.  He  said :  '  Yes,  he  was  Drew,  but  he  was 
one  Oswy,  too.  Yes,  that  was  a  German,  but  it 
was  Lutwyn,  too.'  He  said  they  were  twin 
brothers.  We  were  used  to  men  out  of  their 
heads,  so  we  gathered  him  up  and  took  him  on. 

75 


SWEET  ROCKET 

He  wanted  us  to  stop  and  bury  the  German, 
but  there  wasn't  time  for  that.  The  funny  thing 
is  that  he  certainly  isn't  out  of  his  head  now! 
Yet  he  still  believes  that  story,  though  he  won't 
tell  it  to  every  one.  ..." 

The  rain  beat,  the  fire  burned.  "I've  tried  to 
get  back,"  said  Drew,  "back  to  Guthlac  and 
the  bullock  wagon  and  why  we  were  outlaws. 
If  I  could  find  even  now  what  we  did — if  I  could 
get  farther  back  still,  to  the  point  where  we  de- 
cided to  do  it,  and  redecide,  decide  more  wisely, 
having  long  light  upon  it,  I  think  that  even  now 
I  could  change  in  some  way  the  whole  world! 
Changing  it  to  Lutwyn  and  me  would  mean 
changing  the  whole  texture." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Linden.  "And  seeing 
it  that  way  you  have  begun  to  put  your  change 
into  operation." 

The  fire  shined,  the  rain  beat  upon  the  panes, 
the  wind  came  with  the  impact  of  sea  in  storm. 
Pictures  shifted  before  the  inner  eye.  Lands  and 
times  held  the  earth.  Now  they  seemed  foreign 
pictures,  now  there  was  a  faintly  conscious  par- 
ticipation. "We  are  Earth,  to-night,"  said 
Linden.  "All  these  are  in  our  memory.  Earth 
is  growing  conscious.  A  conscious  Spirit.  That 
is  what  we  mean  to-day  when  we  say,  '  There  is 
a  new  world  just  beneath  the  horizon/  " 


IX 


IN  the  night  the  storm  ceased.  The  household 
woke  to  a  high,  clear,  stirring  morning,  the 
clouds  riding  in  archipelagoes  with,  between 
isles,  a  sea  bluer  than  the  ^Egean.  The  shaken 
trees  had  spread  a  Persian  carpet.  All  the 
flowers  hung  heavy  with  wet,  snails  marched  on 
the  paths,  Sweet  Rocket  glistened. 

Randall  and  Drew  must  ride  away,  so  at  ten 
o'clock  Jim  brought  their  horses. 

Marget  and  Anna  Darcy  walked  through  the 
flower  garden.  "I  am  going  to  Mirny's  house 
for  a  little.  Will  you  come,  too?" 

Marget  had  a  basket  upon  her  arm.  "It  is 
full  of  silk  and  cotton  scraps  for  Julia's  quilts. 
The  day  I  met  you  in  Alder  I  begged  of  two  or 
three  friends  and  they  gave  me  all  this!  It  is 
Julia's  intense  industry  and  happiness,  piecing 
quilts." 

"Who  is  Julia?" 

"Mirny's  lame  daughter.  Lame  in  her  body 
and  just  a  little  lame  in  her  mind." 

"Where  does  Just  So  come  in?" 

' '  Oh,  he's  Susan's !  Susan  has  been  away  upon 
a  visit,  but  she's  home  again.  Zinia  is  Mirny's 
6  77 


SWEET  ROCKET 

niece,  and  Jim  is  her  grandson.  Mirny  and  her 
husband,  old  Uncle  Jack,  who  is  dead,  'belonged,' 
as  they  call  it,  to  the  Lindens.  When  Richard 
bought  Sweet  Rocket  she  was  living  in  Alder, 
and  she  rode  over  in  a  wagon  one  day  and  told 
him  she  wanted  to  come  home — just  like  me!" 
said  Marget,  with  a  happy  laugh.  "The  old 
cabins  were  tumbling  down.  Richard  built  her 
a  real  house.  He  said  that  any  who  came  and 
said,  'This  is  home' — "  Her  dark  eyes  looked 
afar  to  the  valley  rim. 

"Where  does  Mancy  live?" 

"Over  there,  behind  the  big  field.  He  and 
Delia,  his  wife,  and  William,  who  is  Roger  Car- 
ter's right-hand  man." 

Mirny,  in  the  kitchen,  was  singing: 

"Roll,  Jordan,  roll! 

I  want  to  go  to  heaven  to  hear  Jordan  roll. 
Oh,  roll,  Jordan,  roll!" 

Marget  stopped  at  the  door.  "We're  going 
to  your  house,  Aunt  Mirny,  with  quilt  pieces  for 
Julia." 

Mirny  interrupted  her  singing.  "Are  you 
gwine  take  company?" 

"Well,  she  isn't  company." 

"You'll  find  a  mighty  mess  in  that  house!  I 
don't  think  I  ought  to  let  you  go,  Miss  Marget ! 
You  see,  Susan's  been  away,  and  Julia  can't  get 
around,  and  when  Zinia  conies  from  the  big 

78 


SWEET  ROCKET 

house  she  wants  to  read!  instead  of  straightening 
up.  I  reckon  you  better  not  go." 

Marget  laughed.  "Aunt  Mirny,  you  know 
how  we'll  find  the  house!" 

"Well,  go  along!"  said  Mirny,  gloomily. 
"Julia  '11  be  glad  to  get  the  pieces." 

They  left  the  kitchen  behind  them. 

"And  I  want  to  go  to  heaven  to  hear  Jordan  roll!" 

. 

Marget's  low,  warm  laughter  sounded  again. 
"Her  house  is  like  a  pin,  and  she's  so  proud  of 
it,  and  she  wouldn't  for  anything  miss  having 
you  see  it!  The  same  little  rhyme  is  said  to 
every  guest  we  have.  And  'read!'  Mirny's  so 
proud  to  see  Zinia  sit  at  a  table  and  read !  Jim 
can  read,  too,  but  he  doesn't  like  to.  But  Zinia 
is  fond  of  books." 

Mirny's  house  rose  beside  the  orchard,  a  pretty 
cottage  with  a  dooryard  filled  with  cockscomb 
and  larkspur  and  marigold.  At  the  gate  grew 
a  bush  of  myrrh,  and  the  porch  had  over  it  a 
gourd  vine.  Just  So  sat  in  the  middle  of  the 
path,  playing  with  red  and  blue  blocks.  At  the 
sound  of  voices  Susan  appeared,  a  clear-brown, 
neat,  and  active  woman.  "Just  So,  don't  you 
clutter  up  the  path  like  that !  Come  this-a-way , 
Miss  Marget ! "  She  took  them  across  the  porch, 
where  the  gourd  vine  made  so  pleasant  a  pattern, 
into  a  little  parlor,  bright  as  a  pin.  They  sat  and 
talked,  and  then  Susan  said  that  she  would 

79 


SWEET  ROCKET 

bring  Julia,  and,  leaving  the  room,  reappeared, 
pushing  a  wheeled  chair.  In  this  sat  Julia,  who 
was  almost  a  middle-aged  woman,  and  had  a 
slender,  pleasing  face,  and  was  only  a  little  lame 
in  her  mind. 

Marget  emptied  the  basket.  "Oh,  my!"  said 
Julia,  and  again,  "Oh,  my ! "  With  eager  fingers 
she  spread  the  bits  of  silk  and  velvet  and  satin 
and  striped  or  flowered  ribbon.  "  Flower-garden 
pieces!  It  will  be  a  flower-garden  quilt.  I'll 
make  a  quilt  like  they  have  in  heaven!" 

"Shoo!  Julia!"  exclaimed  Susan.  "They 
don't  have  quilts  in  heaven.  It  ain't  cold 
there!" 

Julia's  face  took  on  an  imploring,  almost  a 
frightened  look.  She  turned  to  Marget.  "If  they 
don't  have  quilts  I  won't  have  anything  to  do!" 

With  all.  that  she  knew  of  Marget  Land,  Miss 
Darcy  could  but  wonder  at  the  luminous  sweet- 
ness, the  depth  and  the  play  with  which  Marget, 
seated  by  Julia,  dealt  with  the  latter's  fears. 
All  the  bright  pieces  were  spread  over  the  knees 
of  both.  "In  heaven  you'll  put  rose  and  blue, 
together,  and  this  violet  and  green.  And  look 
how  these  flowered  pieces  go!  Your  quilts  are 
for  warmth  and  beauty,  Julia,  aren't  they? 
Shut  your  eyes  and  see  warmth  and  beauty, 
warmth  and  beauty!"  She  put  her  hand  over 
the  lame  woman's  hand.  The  latter's  plaintive 
look  changed,  her  eyes  brightened,  and  she 
nodded  her  head.  "Yes!  To  keep  us  warm; 

80 


SWEET  ROCKET 

and  they  are  lovely,  like  the  flowers!    Warm 
like  the  sun  is!" 

"Yes.  Warmth  and  beauty — warmth  and 
beauty!  So  in  heaven  you're  to  keep  on  with 
warmth  and  beauty.  And  you'll  learn,  too,  how 
well  wisdom  goes  with  them.  Their  quilts  aren't 
just  like  these  quilts,  but  you  won't  care  for  that. 
You'll  be  putting  together  and  giving  beautiful, 
bright  things!" 

Julia  caressed  a  length  of  flowered  ribbon. 
"That's  what  I  think.  They're  warm  and 
beautiful,  warm  and  beautiful!  And  every  one 
I  give  a  quilt  to  says, '  I'm  so  glad  I've  got  one! ' ' 

"When  you  put  that  piece  in,  think  'warm 
and  beautiful'  for  Mrs.  Gray.  She  gave  it  to 
you.  And  Miss  Lucy  Allen  gave  the  beautiful 
blue  piece." 

When  they  had  quitted  the  porch  with  the 
gourd  vine,  and  the  dooryard,  and  the  gate  by 
the  myrrh  bush,  and  were  under  the  orchard 
trees,  Marget  said:  "She's  been  making  quilts 
for  twenty  years.  Perhaps  two  a  year,  and  into 
each  one  goes  I  do  not  know  what  dim  thinking 
and  feeling,  warmth  and  beauty,  for  such  and 
such  a  one!" 

It  was  Miss  Darcy's  habit  to  rest  a  little  in 
her  own  room  after  dinner.  In  the  midafter- 
noon,  coming  downstairs,  she  found  the  door  of 
Linden's  study  open.  Linden  turned  his  head, 
hearing  her  step.  " Come  in!  Here  are  Marget 
and  Curtin." 

81 


SWEET  ROCKET 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  entered  this 
room.  Her  eyes  took  it  in  as  she  crossed  the 
threshold,  and  found  it  a  simple,  grave  place, 
as  simple  and  grave  and  charged  with  its  own 
aroma  and  spirit  as  a  pine  wood.  It  spread  a 
large  room,  with  plenty  of  space  for  pacing  up 
and  down.  The  bookcases,  the  desk,  the  chairs, 
an  old,  long  cane  and  wood  sofa  were  for  use. 
The  plain  walls  held  a  few  prints.  In  one  of  the 
deep  windows  stood  a  large  globe. 

Curtin  put  Miss  Darcy  a  chair.  "I've  just 
come  in,"  he  said.  There  had  grown  between 
them,  beginning  the  morning  upon  which  she 
found  him  fishing,  or  not  fishing,  in  the  gorge 
that  closed  the  valley,  a  quiet  liking  and  friend- 
ship, with  a  sense,  perhaps,  of  standing  even  in 
the  inner  world.  "Linden  was  saying — " 

Marget  sat  before  the  desk  not  far  from  the 
fireplace,  in  which  burned  a  light  flame.  She 
had  been  writing,  and  Linden  dictating  from  his 
big  cane  chair  by  the  long  window.  She  had 
turned  from  the  desk  and  he  had  moved  his  chair 
to  where  he  sat,  half  in  firelight,  half  in  tawny 
sunlight.  To  Anna  Darcy's  sense  the  room 
had  strongly  that  luminousness  which  in  some 
sort  she  found  in  the  whole  of  Sweet  Rocket, 
in  valleys,  hills,  house,  and  folk.  The  whole 
made  a  sun-filled  cluster  that,  acting  as  a 
cluster,  redoubled  so  all  effects.  But  undoubt- 
edly Linden  and  Marget  were  the  center  of  the 
cluster. 

82 


SWEET  ROCKET 

"I  am  glad  you  have  come  in,"  said  Curtin. 
"Linden  was  speaking  of  their  life  here — " 

"I  told  you,  you  remember,  driving  through 
the  woods ,  of  our  outer  life , ' '  Marget  said .  ' '  Sit- 
ting here  before  the  fire  we  had  begun  to  talk 
of  that  far  larger  life  within  the  outer." 

Linden  spoke.  "Martin  asked  me,  and  I  was 
telling  him  as  clearly  as  I  could.  It  is  not 
wholly  clear,  you  must  not  think,  to  Marget 
and  me,  our  progression  and  our  life.  'Man  is 
a  bridge,'  says  Nietzsche.  A  living  bridge  that 
crosses  from  himself  to  himself.  Always  the 
provisional,  the  halfway,  gone  afar  even  while 
we  say,  '  Here  am  I ! '  How  to  name  a  thing  that 
travels  so  fast!  The  life  of  Marget  and  me 
changes  and  grows,  as  does  yours  and  yours. 
The  history  of  one — the  history  of  all.  There  is 
at  once  divine  difference,  divine  sameness.  No 
hand  and  no  word  will  hold  our  life!" 

"I  don't  know  anyone  like  you,"  said  Curtin. 

"No.  But  you  will  presently  begin  to  know 
more  and  more  who  differ  from  us  and  yet  who 
belong  in  the  order — the  order  of  those  who  are 
aware  that  present  man  is  a  bridge  and  who 
begin  consciously  to  act,  feel,  and  know  in  a 
larger  existence." 

"And  that  is  still  inward?" 

"The  world  still  calls  it  inward.  To  those  in 
that  existence  inward  and  outward,  past,  pres- 
ent, and  future,  come  into  one.  The  old  words, 
then,  are  but  retained  words  of  convenience. 

83 


SWEET  ROCKET 

As  to  the  ultimate  mind  Martin  and  Richard, 
Marget,  Anna,  are  but  words  of  convenience, 
names  for  strands  of  experience.  All  are  com- 
prehended, combined,  surpassed." 

The  sun  lighted  his  hair,  his  bronzed  face,  his 
quiet  eyes,  the  sight  of  which  he  seemed  so  little 
to  miss.  After  a  moment's  pause  he  spoke  on: 
"To-day  many  and  many  are  aware  of  the  rich- 
ness of  destiny.  Some  more  so,  some  less  so,  but 
aware !  Faculties  that  in  a  host  are  but  germinal 
build  in  and  for  others  realities.  The  momen- 
tary, superficial  present,  not  being  the  true 
present,  there  are,  not  'there  have  been'  since 
the  dawn  of  history,  many  such  men  and  women. 
Very  many;  a  host.  There  are  many  to-day; 
to-morrow  there  will  be  more.  If  you  regard 
with  intentness  you  may  see  the  new  Humanity 
forming." 

"What  of  those  who  neither  dream,  nor  divine, 
nor  wish,  who  come  on  so  slow?" 

"Their  not  divining  nor  dreaming  nor  wish- 
ing is  more  apparent  than  real.  All  come  on. 
The  slowest,  who  thinks  he  has  no  direction,  is 
drawn  unconscious  until  the  day  when  he  dis- 
covers the  compass." 

"Will  any  never  cross?" 

"I  don't  think  so." 

"And  when  the  last  human  being  has 
crossed?" 

"Then  will  the  others  come  on  into  humanity 
— they  that  we  call  the  animals.  And  those 

84 


SWEET  ROCKET 

behind  them  will  lift  to  where  they  were.  But 
our  wave  goes  on  into  the  spiritual  world  that  is 
the  world  of  subtler  matter,  vaster  energy, 
understanding  at  last,  love  at  last,  beauty  at 
last.  Well,  Marget  and  I  are  conscious  travelers 
thitherward,  as  are  you  and  you." 

"Ah,  you  are  ahead  of  me!" 

"And  of  me!" 

"In  some  ways  we  may  be  ahead.  And  in 
others  you  may  have  store  of  energy  and  expe- 
rience that  sets  you  ahead.  That  matters  not 
in  the  least.  Whitman  said  that  when  he  said: 

"By  my  side  or  back  of  me,  Eve  following, 
Or  in  front,  and  I  following  her,  just  the  same. 

Like  him,  too : 

"Content  with  the  present  and  content  with  the  past, 

yet  lassoing  the  past  and  the  present  with  the 
future!" 

Curtin  shook  his  head.  "You  have  powers 
that  are  not  mine." 

"  If  we  have  them,  they  will  be  yours.  Marget 
and  I  think  that  we  have,  as  it  were,  a  blueprint. 
But  not  yet  do  we  walk  in  the  full  and  great 
temple!  We  do  faintly  and  weakly  what  one 
day  we  shall  do  with  all  vigor.  And  many 
things  that  we  do  not  yet  dream  we  shall  do! 
And  you  also,  you  and  Anna.  When  you  begin 
to  feel  continuity,  when  no  matter  where  you 
move  you  take  possession  of  yourself — " 

85 


SWEET  ROCKET 

He  rose  from  his  chair,  and,  standing  before 
them,  put  a  hand  upon  Curtin's  shoulder  and 
a  hand  upon  Anna  Darcy's.  '"With  all  your 
getting,  get  understanding.'  'The  kingdom  of 
heaven  is  within  you.'  God  is  /  am." 

The  sun  struck  through  the  western  window, 
the  fire  burned,  the  room  was  lighted  and 
warmed.  Flame  and  stirring  air  made  a  low 
singing. 


X 


THE  next  day  Drew  came  back.  Curtin, 
seated  on  the  porch,  saw  him  cross  the 
river  and  ride  up  by  the  cedars.  Shutting  his 
book,  he  descended  the  steps  to  meet  him. 
"Good  day,  Drew!  Glad  to  see  you  back! 
Nothing  wrong?" 

Drew  dismounted.  "No.  I  wanted  to  talk 
to  Mr.  Linden." 

Jim,  coming  around  the  house,  took  the  horse. 
"He's  out  somewhere  on  the  place,"  said  Cur- 
tin.  "Miss  Land,  too.  But  they  will  be  back 
by  twelve.  Did  you  ride  from  Rock  Mountain 
this  morning?" 

"Yes.  It's  not  so  far  once  you  know  the 
way." 

He  took  the  chair  that  Curtin  hospitably 
pushed  forward,  and  sat  apparently  in  a  brown 
study,  while  the  other  speculated.  At  last  said 
Drew:  "This  is  a  good,  big  farm  with  room, 
I  shouldn't  be  surprised,  for  another  worker. 
At  any  ra^e,  I've  ridden  over  to  ask  Mr.  Linden 
to  employ  me." 

"Do  you  like  farming  better  than  forestry? " 

"I  like  it  better  plus  some  other  things."  His 

87 


SWEET  ROCKET 

eyes  swept  the  hills  that  shut  in  the  vale. 
"There  is  rich  forest  here.  Any  woodland  that 
he  has  I  could  cut  and  replant.  I  know  some- 
thing of  farming,  too,  and  I  can  learn  more. 
I'd  give  good  work  in  return  for  the  other  things 
that  they  can  teach  me,  and  that  I  want." 

He  regarded  Curtin  with  brooding  eyes. 
"Ever  since  I  could  remember  I  have  been  beset 
by  the  past.  A  man  told  me  once  that  I  was 
conscious  there,  but  hadn't  co-ordinated  it  with 
the  present  and  the  future.  It  was  some  time 
ago,  and  he  went  away  at  once  and  I  never 
found  his  like  again — until  I  came  here.  I 
don't  think  there  are  many  of  them,  living  at 
any  one  time.  The  only  wisdom  I've  got  is  the 
wisdom  of  going  where  I  think  I  may  find  help." 

"How  about  Randall?" 

"I'm  very  fond  of  Randall.  But  he  can't 
help  me  here,  nor  I  him.  He  thinks  it's  just  my 
'queerness.'  There's  a  man  in  Washington  who 
will  be  mighty  glad  to  get  my  job.  He's  a 
friend,  too,  of  Randall's.  I  want  to  stay  here 
for  a  year.  Then  I  may  go  foresting  again  with 
Randall.  I  don't  want  to  lose  him.  If  Mr. 
Linden  can't  use  another  man  this  winter  per- 
haps he  will  take  me  in  the  spring.  In  that  case 
I'll  go,  and  come  again.  I've  talked  it  all  out 
with  Malcolm  Smith,  our  chief  at  Rock  Moun- 
tain. Brown  in  Washington  will  come  down 
right  away." 

At  twelve  appeared  Linden.  He  stood  in  the 

88 


SWEET  ROCKET 

hall  door.  "Is  it  you,  Drew?  I  will  be  down  in 
a  moment  to  shake  hands."  They  heard  his 
step  going  up  to  his  room.  "Blind,  and  not 
blind!"  said  Curtin.  "There's  some  profound 
development  of  sensibility." 

"I  am  not  a  scholar,"  said  Drew.  "I "haven't 
got  the  names  to  give  to  things.  That's  a  part 
of  my  need." 

Marget  and  Miss  Darcy  came  up  from  the 
river  path.  They  had  been,  it  seemed,  to  the 
overseer's  house.  Marget  gave  her  hand  to 
Drew.  "I  am  glad  to  see  you  again!"  There 
was  no  surprise  in  her  warm  and  happy  voice. 
"Your  room  is  all  ready  for  you." 

They  had  dinner.  When  it  was  over  Drew 
went  with  Linden  into  his  study.  The  three 
others  lingered  a  little  in  the  pleasant,  wide  hall. 
The  day  was  again  right  October ;  amber  and  gar- 
net and  sapphire;  balm  with  nothing  of  lethargy. 

Said  Curtin,  "When  we  come  and  come,  what 
do  you  do  at  last?" 

Marget  laughed.  "Oh,  you  come  and  go! 
You  never  really  go,  you  know!  But  you  have 
to  take  your  bodies  here  and  there  over  earth. 
But  once  come,  we  keep  you  and  you  keep  us!" 

"You  know  people  all  over  the  earth?" 

"Yes." 

"Do  they  write?" 

"Oh,  now  one  and  now  another  writes!  But 
we  hardly  need  letters.  That  is,  they  are 
needed,  of  course,  for  minute  information,  for 

89 


SWEET  ROCKET 

news  of  bodily  movement.  But  there  is  com- 
munion whether  we  write  or  not." 

Marget  returned  to  the  dining  room  to  talk 
with  Zinia.  Anna  Darcy  went  up  to  her  chamber 
for  her  rest,  and  Curtin  took  his  book  to  the 
porch. 

The  books  at  Sweet  Rocket.  He  fell  to  pon- 
dering them.  There  were,  perhaps,  five  thou- 
sand, not  in  one  room,  but  up  and  down.  Many 
were  old,  and  many  neither  old  nor  new,  and 
many  new.  They  seemed  to  touch  all  subjects. 

Curtin,  pondering,  going  deeper  and  deeper, 
fell  into  some  border  country  of  Reality.  With 
swiftness,  with  electric  shock,  he  touched,  not 
thousands  of  leaves  of  paper  printed  over,  but 
conscious,  intelligent,  and  powerful  life.  Or 
rather,  it  seemed  to  touch,  to  descend  upon  him, 
to  well  through  him,  coming  down,  coming  from 
within,  occupying  space  internal  to  all  this  tran- 
quil, outer,  October  space.  It  was  presence,  it 
was  personality,  overwhelming.  Books!  What 
were  true  books?  Will,  Desire,  Intelligence, 
living,  active,  not  unclothed  or  unbodied,  Jiving 
Presence,  present  Activity,  being  in  mass,  active 
being,  present  and  active  here  in  this  valley  and 
present  and  active  elsewhere,  present  and  active 
throughout  he  knew  not  what  infinity!  He  felt 
again  that  wide  and  deep  shock  of  reality.  The 
world  lived ! — had  always  lived — only  he  had  not 
known  it. 

Vigor  streamed   into   vein  and   nerve.     He 

90 


SWEET  ROCKET 

sprang  to  his  feet,  and,  leaving  the  porch,  moved 
down  past  the  cedars  to  the  river  path,  and  along 
it.  "  It  is  not  Richard  Linden  and  Marget  Land, 
nor  the  one  nor  the  other!  It  is  all  of  us.  It 
is  the  Whole.  The  Whole  has  found  them  and 
is  bringing  them  in  accord."  He  felt  exquisitely 
a  touch  of  bliss.  ' '  It  will  bring  me  in  accord,  too. 
Drew  and  Miss  Darcy  and  me — and  many 
others."  He  felt  a  satisfaction  such  as  he  had 
never  dreamed.  "All  others.  One  by  one,  all 
accorded,  all  remembered.  The  Already  Re- 
membered, forever  increasing  in  strength,  gath- 
ering, drawing,  the  scattered  and  fragmentary 
and  incipient!" 

He  walked,  hardly  knowing  that  he  walked. 
"Goodness  and  largeness!  The  dawn  of  them 
is  synchronous  with  the  dawn  of  Allness.  All 
our  words,  mercy,  justice,  love,  wisdom,  power, 
joy,  are  but  terms  for  the  natural,  habitual  feel- 
ing of  the  One  who  is  Whole.  It  is  not  that  they 
are  'virtues'!  They  are  the  hue  and  tone  and 
sense  of  health!" 

He  went  up  the  river  as  far  as  the  overseer's 
house.  Here,  upon  the  bench  built  around  the 
sycamore,  he  found  old  Mr.  Morrowcombe,  who 
had  stayed  over  with  the  Carters.  In  his  old 
brown  clothes,  with  hair  and  long  beard,  pale 
as  the  pale  patches  of  the  sycamore  trunk  and 
boughs,  leaning  forward  upon  his  stick,  he  looked, 
as  it  were,  the  huge  old  tree  come  forth  into 
human  form. 

91 


SWEET  ROCKET 

Curtin  sat  down  beside  this  old  man.  The 
cane  upon  which  the  elder  leaned  was  now  close 
to  his  eye  and  he  saw  that  it  was  covered  with 
finely  cut  words.  Thick,  and  shaped  like  a 
shepherd's  crook,  the  graving  ran  all  over  it. 
"May  I  look?" 

"Surely!"  said  Mr.  Morrowcombe,  and  gave 
it  into  his  hand.  "The  year  I  was  in  prison  at 
Camp  Chase  I  carved  around  it  the  twenty- 
third  psalm." 

Curtin  examined  the  quite  beautifully  done 
work.  "Trust  and  Consolation  in  your  hand — 
walking  with  them  for  fifty  years!"  He  sat 
musing. 

Mr.  Morrowcombe's  old,  gentle  voice  began 
like  the  zephyr  in  the  sycamore,  whose  beginning 
you  could  hardly  guess.  "Yes,  sir!  That  staff's 
me  now.  Just  as  a  good  dog  that  goes  with  you 
gets  to  be  you.  It's  helped  me,  week  days  and 
Sundays;  that  staff  I  made  myself.  I  made  it 
myself,  and  I  didn't  make  it.  I  didn't  make  the 
tree  that  grew  it  and  I  didn't  make  the  psalm; 
nor  David  that  made  the  psalm.  But  I  cut  the 
staff  from  the  tree  and  I  carved  the  words  there. 
So  I  reckon  I  have  my  part." 

"You  cut  it  in  prison?" 

"Do  you  see  that  piece  just  thar?"  The  old 
finger  traced  the  line.  ' '  Thou  settest  me  a  table 
in  the  presence  of  mine  enemies.1  I  cut  that 
deep  and  fierce!" 

He  looked  at  the  river  and  then  again  at  Cur- 

92 


SWEET  ROCKET 

tin.  ' '  Now,  whatever  it  means,  I  know  it  doesn't 
mean  what  then  I  wanted  it  to  mean!" 

His  old,  gentle  face  grew  meditative,  con- 
templative. A  more  tranquil  form  and  face  it 
would  have  been  hard  to  find.  "I  kind  of  sense 
the  meaning,  but  I  can't  put  it  into  words.  But 
when  you  feel  at  last  with  folks  and  things  you 
can't  feel  against  them.  When  I  was  young  I 
must  have  hated  a  lot  of  folk!  I  don't  now." 

"What  is  your  healing  herb?" 

"Put  yourself  in  his  place.  Don't  oust  him 
from  the  place,  but  understand  him.  Flow  into 
him  deep !  Then  you'll  find  that  there  is  Some- 
thing inside  or  above  you  and  him  which  under- 
stands and  straightens  out  both  of  you.  Next 
thing  you  find  is  that  you  haven't  got  any  real 
controversy." 

"Do  you  call  that  something  God?" 

"That's  what  I  call  it.  I  used  to  think  that 
you  had  to  call  it  God.  I  don't  now.  But  it's 
a  mighty  good  word!  We've  hallowed  it.  It's 
the  biggest  word  we've  got." 

"  Mr.  Morrowcombe,  when  we  join  God,  don't 
you  think  we  shall  say  '  I '  ?  " 

"Ttowillsay'I.'     Yes." 

They  sat  gazing  at  the  river  and  the  colored 
hills.  "Ain't  this  a  lovely  place?"  said  Mr. 
Morrowcombe.  "It's  like  Beulah  Land!" 

"Do  you  ever  talk  to  Mr.  Linden?" 

"Surely!  Him  and  Marget  Land.  They're 
of  those  in  our  time  who  are  remembered  early." 

7  93 


SWEET  ROCKET 

He  glided  into  one  of  his  gentle  silences.  Cur- 
tin  pondered  that  matter  of  re-membering,  re- 
collecting, re-storing. 

Said  Mr.  Morrowcombe,  "I  knew  Marget 
Land  when  she  was  a  little  girl  and  came  to 
Sunday  school.  She  was  baptized  in  our  church, 
but  she  ain't  now  one  of  our  church  members. 
That  used  to  grieve  and  puzzle  me — make  me  a 
little  angry,  too,  I  reckon!  Now  I  don't  bother 
about  it.  She's  in  the  Living  Church,  all  right." 

He  looked  up  into  the  bronze  and  silver  syca- 
more. "I've  sat  on  this  bench  in  old  Major 
Linden's  time,  when  John  Land  was  overseer 
and  lived  in  the  house  yonder.  His  wife,  Eliza- 
beth, was  just  the  salt  of  the  earth.  Those  chil- 
dren used  to  be  playing  around  this  tree.  I 
remember  Marget,  a  bare-legged,  big-eyed  little 
thing.  She's  sat  by  me  often  on  this  bench  and 
made  me  tell  her  stories.  Now  it  seems  a  long 
time  ago,  and  now  it  seems  yesterday! " 

His  voice  sank  again  into  the  October  sun- 
shiny stillness.  His  lips  closed,  but  Curtin  felt 
him  speaking  on  in  thought  and  consciousness. 
It  came  to  him,  in  another  of  those  revelational 
flashings'  "That  is  the  ultra-violet  of  speech, 
the  high,  subtle,  inaudible,  continual  speech! 
When  we  begin  to  catch  it,  when  we  begin  to 
hear  thought — "  He  felt  again  the  shock  of 
going  together,  of  rivers  pouring  into  ocean. 

Mr.  Morrowcombe's  lips  parted.  "The  war 
turned  me  serious,  and  I  found  religion  two  years 

94 


SWEET  ROCKET 

after  the  surrender.  I'd  tell  her  Bible  stories. 
I  had  a  kind  of  gift  that-a-way.  Roger  Carter, 
that's  my  nephew  as  well  as  my  son-in-law,  has 
got  the  same  gift,  though  it  ain't  always  Bible 
stories  that  he  tells — except  I  reckon  as  all  true 
stories  are  Bible  stories !  I  used  to  tell  her  about 
David  and  Jonathan,  and  Joseph  and  his  breth- 
ren, and  Ruth  and  Naomi,  and  Mary  and  Martha 
and  Lazarus,  in  Bethany.  .  .  .  Mary  and  Martha 
in  yourself,  and  Lazarus  who  was  long  dead  but 
could  be  raised,  and  Christ,  who  could  judge 
and  portion  and  raise,  all  in  yourself!  She  used 
to  listen,  sitting  just  there.  She  had  mind  then, 
and  she's  got  mind  now — more  'n  I  have  in  a 
lot  of  ways.  She  and  him.  Mind  and  goodness, 
and  spirit  that  is  power,  and  a  body  that  you 
love  to  look  at!  They're  the  kind  of  folk  that 
ought  to  be.  Yes,  sir,  I  was  thinking  when  you 
came  along  of  Marget  sitting  there,  a  little 
thing,  and  saying,  'Now  tell  me  about  the  chil- 
dren of  Israel' — or  'about  Bethlehem,'  as  it 
might  be." 

With  distinctness  Curtin  felt  that  which  the 
old  man  also  seemed  to  feel,  for  he  turned  his 
head,  lowering  it  and  his  eyes  a  little,  and  smil- 
ing. The  movement  was  precisely  that  of  turn- 
ing and  smiling  into  a  child's  eyes.  Again 
through  Curtin  poured  that  thrill  of  a  freshness 
of  knowledge.  If  this  tree,  this  place,  were 
strongly  in  a  consciousness,  in  a  memory,  surely 
then  that  conscious  spirit  itself  might  in  some 

95 


SWEET  ROCKET 

sort  be  felt  here!  At  any  rate,  he  was  aware  of 
Marget,  though  to  all  outward  senses  appeared 
only  the  warm-colored  October  air.  He  had 
again  the  sense  of  etheric  life.  He  lost  it.  It 
was  so  bright,  it  was  so  transient!  The  un- 
quenchable desire  was  to  bring  it  lasting. 

He  presently  walked  back  to  Sweet  Rocket 
House.  Drew  was  on  the  porch.  "I'm  going  to 
stay.  I'll  write  to  Brown,  and  ride  to  Rock 
Mountain  to-morrow  to  tell  Mr.  Smith  and 
Randall,  and  pack  up  my  things." 


XI 


next  day  Drew  returned  to  Rock  Moun- 
tain  to  make  his  arrangements.  "Why  not 
ride  with  him?"  Linden  looked  at  Curtin. 
"There  is  a  fair  trail.  You  have  an  extraor- 
dinarily fine  view  from  the  top." 

Drew  urged  it  likewise.  "But  I  haven't  a 
horse." 

"Roger  Carter  has  a  good  saddle  mare.  He 
will  be  glad,  I  know,  to  let  you  have  her." 

Drew,  mounted  as  he  came,  Curtin  on  Dixie, 
set  out  before  noon  for  Rock  Mountain.  The 
cliffy  crest  that  gave  it  its  name  peered  above 
the  southern  hills  and  ridges  facing  Sweet 
Rocket.  Crossing  the  river  the  two  kept  for 
some  little  distance  to  the  Alder  road,  then  at 
a  pine  tree  left  it  for  a  just  discernible  track. 
"This  is  where  we  changed,  Randall  and  I,  the 
other  day.  Until  we  saw  the  river  we  thought 
that  we  were  going  to  Alder,  but  we  were  going 
to  Sweet  Rocket  instead." 

The  trees  closing  in  behind  them,  they  were 
plunged  into  forest.  There  was  now  no  green 
save  the  green  of  occasional  pine  or  hemlock. 
All  was  gold  or  red  or  russet.  Moreover,  the 

97 


SWEET  ROCKET 

earlier  trees  to  turn  were  fast  flinging  their  man- 
tles upon  the  earth.  The  sky  met  less  obstruc- 
tion, the  sunlight  spread  a  royal  carpet.  The 
air  equaled  exhilaration.  As  Curtin  rode  he 
thought  that  he  faintly  remembered  all  the 
forests  of  the  world.  "Is  it  infectious?  Is  it 
because  in  some  sort  Drew  remembers,  or  is  it 
because  I  have  been — and  surely  I  have  been — 
in  all  the  forests  of  the  world?  Like  him,  I  re- 
member best  the  temperate  and  the  northern 
forests,  because  in  time  they  are  the  nearer." 

For  a  while  they  rode  in  silence.  There  was 
only  the  sound  of  their  own  breathing  and  move- 
ment, and  the  very  inner  voice  of  the  forest,  low 
speech  of  branches  that  brushed  them,  break  of 
twigs,  flutter  of  wings,  tap  of  woodpeckers, 
whisk  of  squirrel,  and  once,  a  little  way  off,  the 
heavy  whir  of  a  pheasant.  At  last  Drew  broke 
the  silence.  "My  mother  died  when  I  was 
fifteen  years  old,  and  my  father  when  I  was 
twenty.  I  remember  my  mother's  mother  and 
my  father's  mother  and  father.  I  know  a  good 
deal  about  their  life  after  I  was  born  and  their 
life  before  I  was  born.  I  have  a  fair  notion  of 
my  grandparents'  parents,  and  I  know  some- 
thing of  the  way  of  life  of  the  generation  behind 
that  one.  I  have  been  told  and  I  have  read. 
Of  course  there  are  presently  ancestors  of  whom 
I  have  been  told  nothing,  and  behind  these 
countless  others.  Of  course  I  know  that  people 
often  imaginatively  share  the  experience  of 

98 


SWEET  ROCKET 

parents  and  kindred.    They  say:  'It  must  have 
been  so  and  so  with  my  mother  and  my  father— 
or  with  my  grandparents — or  my  ancestors  gen- 
erally.     They  had  these  experiences  and  they 
must  have  felt  and  done  this  way.     It  seems 
almost  as  if  I  were  there!'    I  think  when  you 
say  that  you  are  beginning.    But  it's  grown  to 
be  more  than  that  with  me.    After  all,  what  are 
you  but  your  parents,  your  grandparents,  your 
great-grandparents,  and  so  on?  Your  experience 
under  your  immediate  name  and  your  experience 
under  your  old  names— their  names.  And  alike, 
what  are  they  but  you?    Share  and  share,  com- 
prehend and  comprehend,  include  and  include! 
I  tell  you  that  I  am  aware  of  the  pyramid  behind 
this  cleaving  point  that  is  talking  to  you.     I 
remember." 

Do  you  mean  that  you  remember  actually 
thinking,  feeling,  doing  what  men  say  your 
ancestors  did?" 

"I  don't  get  it  clear.  It's  all  wrought  into 
some  kind  of  unity.  I  don't  remember  clearly 
sharp,  isolated  experiences — except  that  one 
time  I  told  you  about,  and  that  was  clear  and 
sharp  repetition.  But  I  remember,  all  the  same. 
I  don't  feel  any  wall  between  my  father  and 
myself,  between  my  mother  and  myself,  my 
grandparents  and  myself.  You  don't  know  how 
curiously  I  seem  to  share  their  life!  Sometimes, 
lying  still  at  night,  I  simply,  naturally,  am 
Edward  Drew  as  well  as  Philip  Drew.  I  look 

99 


SWEET  ROCKET 

out  of  the  Edward  Drew  window — or  out  of  the 
Andrew  or  Robert  or  Margaret  or  Janet  window 
— and  then  I  turn  and  look  out  of  the  Philip 
Drew  window.  I  had  a  great-grandfather  who 
was  a  sailor.  I  can't  tell  you  what  feel  of  the 
deck  beneath  my  feet,  what  a  sense  of  sea  by 
day  and  by  night,  I  have  at  times! .  .  .  But  then, 
of  course,  in  the  far  back  I  must  join  many 
sailors.  ...  I  am  those  folk.  That's  my  own 
life  they  led.  I  lead  their  life.  Wherever  they 
are,  they  lead  mine!" 

He  fell  silent,  and  Curtin,  too,  rode  silent. 
They  were  now  above  the  valley,  their  road 
climbing.  Overpassing  a  great  hill  they  came 
to  a  threadlike,  green  vale,  and  crossing  this 
climbed  Bear  Mountain,  behind  which  rose  the 
great  head  of  Rock.  When  they  reached  a  gush- 
ing mountain  spring  they  dismounted,  and, 
seated  on  moss  and  leaves  under  a  tall  moun- 
tain linden,  all  palely  gold,  ate  the  bread  and 
cheese  and  damson  tart  and  drank  the  cider  that 
Sweet  Rocket  had  put  in  the  bag  they  carried. 
Their  feast  ended,  they  rested  on  the  springy, 
fragrant  earth. 

Drew  began  again.  "Remembrance!  If  I 
had  a  hundred  per  cent  better  brain — and  I 
suppose  one  day  the  brain  of  all  of  us  will  be  a 
hundred,  a  thousand  per  cent,  ahead  of  what  it 
is  now — I  am  convinced  that  I  could  remember 
not  only  down  the  stalk  of  myself,  but  out  into 
the  branches  right  and  left.  The  tree  conscious 

IOO 


SWEET  ROCKET 

from  leaf  to  root,  from  root  to  leaf!  The  whole 
tree  conscious,  aware  up  and  down  and  to  and 
fro — and,  as  somewhere  all  the  forest  joins  on, 
the  forest  conscious  and  aware  up  and  down  of 
its  history.  Then  the  forest  runs  into  all  the 
forests  high  and  low.  The  everlasting  Forest 
and  all  its  adventures!"  He  looked  as  though 
he  rode  in  that  forest.  "Out  of  it  comes  the 
Tree  that  sheds  the  forests!  And  never  once 
need  we  lose  consciousness  in  finding  that  Tree! 
That's  what  Mr.  Linden  said  to  me.  He  said: 
'You're  the  Ash  Yggdrasil.  You're  all  things 
and  all  people.  You  share  them  and  they  share 
you.  You're  to  extend,  extend,  your  sense  of 
that.  The  One  is  to  come  down  and  lay  hold 
upon  you — and  still  you  shall  find  it  home  and 
yourself!'" 

On  they  rode  over  Bear  Mountain,  and  at 
last  up  Rock.  Five  hundred  feet  below  the  top 
lay  a  green  depression  named  Hall's  Gap. 
Here  a  half-dozen  cabins  made  Hall's  Town. 
The  people  now  owned  Rock  Mountain,  its  rich 
forests  and  rushing  waters.  A  road  was  in  the 
making  and  that  and  other  department  plans 
brought  to  Hall's  Gap  preliminary  groups,  the 
present  group  being  a  surveying,  engineering, 
and  reporting  one,  with  Malcolm  Smith  for  head. 
Under  him  he  had  Cooper  and  Morris,  Randall 
and  Drew,  with  axmen  and  spademen  hired  from 
the  mountain.  The  cabins  in  the  Gap  lodged 
them  all. 

IOI 


SWEET  ROCKET 

Curtin  and  Drew  reached  this  place  before 
sunset.  The  men  were  coming  in,  dogs  barked, 
the  smell  of  coffee  and  bacon  hung  in  the  air. 
Randall  welcomed  them,  and  presently  Malcolm 
Smith  appeared  and  shook  hands.  They  had 
supper  in  Hall's  big  double  cabin,  with  Hall  and 
Mrs.  Hall  and  half  a  dozen  flaxen-haired  young 
Halls,  but  after  supper  they  went  to  a  neighbor- 
ing cabin,  for  the  time  being  their  own.  Pine 
knots  blazed  on  the  hearth.  Malcolm  Smith 
and  Cooper  and  Morris,  Randall  and  Drew  and 
Martin  Curtin  stretched  tired  limbs  and  smoked 
and  talked.  Morris  and  Cooper  presently 
played  checkers.  Malcolm  Smith  read  the 
newspaper,  but  after  a  little  put  it  down  and 
talked.  He  talked  of  aviation,  and  wireless,  and 
of  Einstein's  notion  of  space,  and  of  atomic 
energy.  "I've  an  idea  that  ideas,  ideation  gen- 
erally, imagery,  perhaps  memory,  are  simply 
that  energy  functioning!  We  imagine,  and  that 
energy  has  constructed  a  form  in  ether.  We  use 
it  blindly,  weakly,  unintelligently.  But  if— 

"I  see." 

"But  if  we  used  it  enormously  more  strongly 
— and  wisely — we'd  be  creators  all  right!  It's 
getting  very  important  to  know  what  we  do 
want  to  create.  If  we  don't  look  out,  presently 
we  may  find  that  our  imaginations  have  life! 
We've  got  to  choose,  I  suppose,  what  kind  of 
life  we'll  give;  silly  or  monstrous  life,  or  intelli- 
gent, kindly,  strong,  beautiful  life!" 

102 


SWEET  ROCKET 

Curtin  enjoyed  the  evening  on  Rock.  Flame 
and  odor  of  burning  pine,  and  the  pleasantly 
grotesque  shadows  on  the  cabin  walls,  made  for 
rich  fancies.  In  one  of  the  easy  silences  the 
men  grouped  in  this  brown  and  flame-hued  place 
seemed  to  him  genii,  gathered  here  before  they 
drove  their  roads  over  mountains  or  harnessed 
their  plunging  water  steeds.  He  thought:  "We 
are  genii!  How  wonderful  it  is  to  be  what  we 
are — and  shall  be!" 

Men  at  Hall's  went  to  bed  before  ten.  Curtin 
found  in  a  small  cabin  a  hard  couch  and  honest 
sleep.  He  slept  without  turning  till  five  of  the 
morning,  when  he  waked  with  a  great  sense  of 
refreshment.  "Where  I  have  been  I  don't 
know,  but  it  was  where  vigor  flows!"  The  stars 
shone  in  at  his  window.  He  lay  still  for  a  few 
minutes,  then  rose.  The  air  was  not  too  chill. 
He  found  when  he  was  dressed  that  he  was 
warm  enough.  Opening  the  cabin  door  he  went 
out,  moving  softly  so  as  not  to  waken  Drew  and 
Randall.  The  morning  star  hung  in  the  east, 
and  near  it  the  moon  in  her  last  quarter.  The 
cold,  first  hyacinth  of  dawn  streaked  the  sky. 
Drew  had  pointed  out  the  path  to  the  top  of 
the  mountain.  Curtin,  finding  it,  climbed  it 
alone.  Half  an  hour  brought  him  to  the  summit. 
When  he  reached  it  the  earth  was  bathed  in  the 
cool  and  violet  first  light.  He  found  a  great 
projecting  rock,  shaped  like  a  chair,  and  took  his 
seat  here.  The  planet,  from  gold,  was  become 

103 


SWEET  ROCKET 

silver,  and  the  moon  hung  like  a  dream  canoe. 
Here  or  there  mist  hid  the  vast  expanse  below, 
but  for  the  most  part  earth  lay  clear.  The  out- 
thrust  rock  that  was  his  seat  gave  him  two- 
thirds  of  the  circle. 

Stillness  with  depth  and  power  possessed  Cur- 
tin.  He  looked  out,  and  down,  and  over.  Range 
on  range,  with  narrow  vales  between,  rolled  the 
mountains.  In  the  strengthening  light  the  au- 
tumn hue  of  them  gave  desert  tints;  then  he 
picked  out  clearings,  and  white  points  that  were 
hamlets  and  farmhouses.  He  turned  eyes  to 
where  would  be  Sweet  Rocket,  though  he  could 
not  see  that  valley.  It  was  dawn.  Richard 
Linden  would  be  up.  Perhaps,  guessing  that 
Curtin  might  watch  dawn  brighten  from  this 
rock,  he  might  be  here  in  mind  and  spirit. 

Even  as  he  thought  this,  the  presence  of  Lin- 
den not  there  but  here,  or  both  here  and  there, 
came  to  Curtin  in  a  wave.  He  felt  company  in 
solitude,  doubled  life.  And  not,  as  he  presently 
perceived,  Linden  only.  Linden  meant  thou- 
sands of  others,  as  thousands  of  others  meant 
Linden.  Thousands  and  thousands.  .  .  .  That 
was  himself  .  .  .  thousands  and  thousands. 

He  looked  north  and  east  and  west;  by  rising 
and  moving  he  looked  south.  The  horizon  rim 
lay  very  far.  Using  knowledge,  he  let  it  farther 
drop  away,  drop  away.  Underneath  him  was 
the  bulk  of  the  earth.  Use  power  and  make  it 
as  crystal,  penetrable  as  water  or  air!  Over- 

104 


SWEET  ROCKET 

head  and  all  around  was  air,  thinning  afar  into 
ether.  He  saw  his  globe  in  space  and  time.  A 
ten-minute  road  of  light  ran  between  it  and  the 
sun.  He  sat  very  still,  but  within  he  moved 
into  the  land  of  contemplation.  Here  much 
time  came  into  no-time,  so  subtle  swift  was 
motion.  He  entered  into  touch  with  much  for 
which  he  had  not  yet  found  name  or  names. 
He  might  say,  there  is  deep  water  and  rich  land. 
He  might  say,  the  world  is  other  than  we  thought 
it.  There  are  Americas  ripe  for  discovery,  and 
there  are  farther  and  future  Americas  forming. 
By  degrees  might  lessened.  Muscle  could  not 
yet  hold,  nor  sense  be  aware.  He  came  nearer 
surface.  Yet  still  there  was  vision.  Phosphor 
was  paling,  the  moon  a  dim  curve  of  pearl,  and 
all  the  spread  of  earth  in  stronger  light.  Curtin 
gazed,  and  the  eyes  of  the  mind  outran  the  eyes 
of  the  flesh.  Not  just  Virginia,  but  all  the  forty- 
eight  states.  Not  just  the  forty-eight,  but  all 
America,  Canada,  and  Mexico,  and  the  islands 
and  the  republics  of  the  South.  He  looked  to 
the  Atlantic  and  saw  on  the  farther  side  Europe 
and  Africa,  and  on  to  the  east  Asia  and  the 
Pacific.  He  saw  the  continents  and  the  nations. 
It  was  not  so  much  that  he  saw  then1  earth, 
their  body,  though  he  saw  that,  too.  But  he 
saw  them,  touched  them,  heard  them,  as  per- 
sons. The  most  of  them  had  lately  been  at 
fierce  war,  fibers  of  each  dissenting,  but  the  bulk 
warring.  Exhausted  from  war,  haggard  and 

105 


SWEET  ROCKET 

torn,  yet  still  they  made  gestures  with  broken 
weapons.  He  saw  them  in  the  throes  of  eco- 
nomic and  political  change,  of  change  from 
knowledge  to  knowledge,  and  of  religious  change. 
He  saw  traits  and  actions,  deep,  deep;  yester- 
days at  the  point  of  to-day,  and  all  the  morrows 
being  built  of  yesterdays  and  to-days.  He  saw 
as  it  were  stain  and  chaff  and  guilt,  and  through 
all  these  white-running  Fire  and  Life  and  Up- 
springing.  They  were  Persons,  but  a  greater 
Person  held  them.  Light  broke.  He  saw  the 
earth  and  the  world  and  the  heavens  as  Person. 
Upon  him  broke  in  deluge  the  vaster  Selfhood. 

The  sun  rose  over  Rock  Mountain,  the  long 
ranges  and  the  vales.  The  air  had  the  exquisite 
fresh  energy  of  Hope.  Curtin  moved  down  the 
path  to  the  cabins.  All  his  being  seemed  lit 
and  harmonized.  "It  is  what  the  old  saints 
called  conversion.  My  times  fall  into  the  hand 
of  the  One  that  I  Am!" 

The  rosy  light  shone  on  Hall's  below  him  as 
it  shone  on  Sweet  Rocket  and  Alder  and  the 
Virginia  farms  and  villages  and  towns,  and  the 
farms  and  villages  and  towns  of  every  state, 
and  of  all  the  Americas,  and  of  the  earth.  Fra- 
grant smoke  rose  from  the  chimneys.  He  heard 
the  cheerful  voices.  A  great  love  of  the  neigh- 
bor pervaded  Curtin's  consciousness,  and  with 
it  entered  the  neighbor.  His  consciousness  and 
the  neighbor's  consciousness  became  to  a  degree 

one. 

1 06 


XII 

'""PHE  men  at  work  had  breakfast  at  Hall's  in 
1  great  beauty  of  weather.  Afterward  Curtin 
went  with  them  along  the  proposed  line  of  road. 
It  proved  a  cheerful  group,  doing  basic  work 
well.  The  wine  of  the  air  and  the  lift  of  the 
earth  and  the  beams  of  the  sun  helped  amain. 
Axes  rang,  pick  and  shovel  sounded.  There  was 
a  center  of  work  and  there  were  outlying  ex- 
plorations. One  hallooed  to  another.  Morris 
was  a  master  whistler,  and  you  heard  him  like 
a  redbird.  Dave  Hall  had  an  interminable 
mountain  ballad  which  he  chanted  as  he  worked. 
The  buzz  of  the  whole  might  be  caught  a  long 
way  over  the  mountain  slope.  Where  they 
worked  would  be  a  great  driveway  for  holiday 
folk.  Young  and  old  would  pass  that  way, 
drinking  the  great  views  and  the  mountain  air, 
pierced  by  beauty  and  largeness.  Young  and 
old,  man  and  woman,  a  many  and  a  many, 
through  years  heaped  like  sand ! 

"I  like  public  work!"  said  Randall. 
Drew  answered:  "I  like  it,  too!    If  a  scholar 
wants  to  help  all  and  a  teacher  wants  to  help 
all,  then  going  to  school  and  teaching  are  public 

107 


SWEET  ROCKET 

works.  But  I'm  coming  back  to  help  hold  the 
forests  for  themselves  and  the  people." 

The  morning  went  by  quickly.  At  noon  they 
had  dinner  by  Indian  Creek,  that  rushed  and 
leaped.  Three  young  Halls  brought  their  food 
in  baskets.  It  was  spread  under  hemlocks,  and 
they  ate  as  it  were  in  Arden.  Dinner  over,  for 
half  an  hour  they  smoked  and  rested,  stretched 
out  beneath  the  trees. 

"Tell  us  a  story,  Cooper!" 

"I  haven't  one.    Call  Dave  Hall  over." 

Dave  came,  tall  and  lank  and  brown  as  ale. 
"Sit  under  that  tree,  Dave,  and  tell  us  a  story." 

"I  kin  sing  you  about  John  Horn  and  Betsy 
at  the  dance." 

"No.  Tell  us  a  story.  Tell  us  about  the 
mountain  woman  you  began  about  the  other 
day  when  the  storm  came  up." 

"Miss  Ellice?" 

"Yes,  Miss  Ellice." 

Dave  settled  himself,  with  his  back  to  the 
wine-red  trunk  of  a  hemlock.  He  was  lean  and 
tanned,  wide-eyed,  with  a  rich,  drawling  voice. 
"She  was  a  see-er,  that  woman!  This-a-time 
that  I  was  telling  about  the  mountain  barked 
like  a  dawg  at  her,  and  showed  its  teeth  and 
tried  to  bite — because  she  said  an  awful  thing! 
She  said  that  a  time  would  come  when  every 
man  and  woman  could  do  the  things  that  Jesus 
did.  She  said  Christ  was  an  abstract  description 
of  the  state  of  being  folks  would  come  to  some 

108 


SWEET  ROCKET 

day,  and  Jesus  was  a  great  laborer  who  got  there 
earlier  than  'most  anybody  else.  Said  he  was  an 
example,  sure  enough,  and  a  shower  of  the  way, 
and  who  could  help  loving  and  wondering?  But, 
'cording  to  her,  the  best  way  to  love  Jesus  was 
to  learn.  Stop  jest  do-less  wondering,  and  grow! 
Said  that  Bethlehem  and  Nazareth  and  Galilee 
and  Jerusalem  and  the  New  Jerusalem  were 
where  any  man  or  woman  was!  Brother  Carra- 
way  preached  against  her,  and  the  mountain 
decided  she  wasn't  healthy  for  it.  She  was  liv- 
ing all  alone,  but  the  mountain  decided  that  her 
cabin  had  better  be  emptier  yet.  She  was  a 
tall  woman,  about  the  age  of  my  mother,  and 
when  you  looked  at  her  you'd  think  at  first  she 
wasn't  strong.  .  .  . 

"Brother  Carraway,  after  he  had  preached, 
went  on  home,  but  James  Curdy  always  took 
what  he  found  in  the  Word  and  tried  to  do  it. 
What  he  found  was  usually  right  harsh.  James 
had  black  eyes  pushed  'way  in,  and  long  hair  that 
always  seemed  to  me  to  be  blowing  in  a  wind. 
He  was  awful  fond  of  the  word  'punish.'  'Now 
you're  Punished!'  ' God  will  Punish  you !'  He 
used  to  stride  around  and  do  his  best  to  see  that 
God  didn't  forget  it.  He  was  one  to  see  that 
God  did  his  duty,  was  James!  He  couldn't 
always  make  the  mountain  look  at  things  same 
as  he  did,  but  after  Brother  Carraway's  sermon, 
and  the  lightning  striking  Barber's  house  and 
killing  old  Mrs.  Barber,  he  got  two-thirds  of  it 

8  109 


SWEET  ROCKET 

worked  right  up  to  his  feelings !  That  was  Tues- 
day after  Sunday,  the  lightning  having  struck 
on  Saturday,  and  Mrs.  Barber  buried  on  Mon- 
day. He  got  about  thirty  men  and  boys  to- 
gether at  John  Williams,  and  a  lot  of  them  had 
had  whisky — I  don't  know  that  this  air  inter- 
esting I  could  sing  to  you  about  John  Horn 
and  Betsy." 

"No,  go  on!  They  were  going  to  drive  Miss 
Ellice  off  the  mountain?" 

"That  was  the  intention.  But  this  very 
Indian  Creek  about  a  mile  from  here  makes  a 
pool  that's  called  Dumb  Child  Pool,  because 
little  Johnny  Nelson  that  was  dumb  was 
drowned  there.  He  fell  in  while  the  children 
were  gathering  nuts  and  he  couldn't  make  them 
hear.  Well,  those  that  had  had  something 
stronger  than  water,  they  were  all  for  seeing  if 
Miss  Ellice  wasn't  a  witch!  You  know  how 
folk  used  to  prove  a  witch  ?  That  was  about  twen- 
ty of  the  eager  ones,  mostly  young  men.  This 
wasn't  very  recent.  I  wasn't  living  on  this 
mountain,  but  on  Stormy  Mountain  over  thar. 
I  came  here  when  Lucinda  Nelson  and  me 
married.  But  I've  heard  all  about  it." 

He  spat  vigorously.  "Now,  this  is  where  her 
seeing  with  other  eyes  than  like  yourn  and  mine 
comes  in !  And  how  I  come  to  know  about  some 
things  that  others  don't  was  that  that  very 
Lucinda  Nelson  that  I  married  happened  to  be 
at  Miss  Ellice's  that  day.  Nelsons  ain't  afraid 

no 


SWEET  ROCKET 

of  anything,  and  Miss  Ellice  had  done  them 
neighborly  turns,  sitting  up  with  the  sick  and 
sharing  coffee,  and  such  as  that.  Anyhow, 
Lucinda  was  there,  and  Miss  Ellice  was  braid- 
ing a  rug  and  seemed  extraordinarily  cheerful 
and  sunny.  'Long  about  two  of  the  clock,  as  it 
were,  she  broke  off  her  talk  and  finished  her  row, 
as  it  might  be,  without  looking  at  it.  Then  she 
says  to  Lucinda — and  Lucinda  says  she  was  that 
still  and  sunny,  like  a  day  that  comes  sometimes, 
that  she  was  'most  afraid  of  her,  just  as  you're 
'most  afraid  sometimes  of  that  kind  of  day,  and 
yet  you  want  to  stay  by  it  and  it  to  stay  by  you 
— she  says,  says  she,  'I'd  like  you  to  stay  longer, 
Lucinda,  but  I  find  that  I've  got  something  to 
do!  You  go  along,  honey,  and  if  I  don't  see  you 
again  I  want  you  to  remember  that  I  like  you 
and  think  you're  on  the  right  road ! '  And  with 
that  she  got  up  and  kissed  Lucinda  and  stood 
in  the  door  to  watch  her  down  the  path.  Lu- 
cinda went  along  home.  Well,  in  about  two 
hours,  here  they  come,  James  Curdy  and  Mat 
Waters  and  Jonathan  Morgan,  and  the  others, 
drunk  with  whisky  and  with  what  they  thought 
was  the  Word  of  God.  They  had  a  rope,  and 
they  meant  the  Dumb  Child  Pool." 

He  spat  again.  "Twas  Jonathan  Morgan 
that  told  me,  and  Lucinda  the  rest  of  it.  He 
was  young  and  wild  in  those  days.  Jonathan 
says  he  hadn't  been  drinking,  and  for  all  that 
now  and  then  he  shouted  with  the  rest  he  had 

III 


SWEET  ROCKET 

never  seen  a  day  so  sunny  and  still,  and  just 
the  minute  after  he'd  shouted  he'd  see  the 
whole  as  in  a  picture — his  crowd  and  the  Dumb 
Child's  Pool,  and  Miss  Ellice's  cabin.  Kind  of 
saw  it  out  of  himself  as  it  were,  as  though  he 
was  sitting  on  the  bough  of  a  tree  looking,  seeing 
thar  as  well  as  here.  But  the  rest  of  them,  I 
reckon,  didn't  see  nothing  but  a  witch  and 
something  exciting  to  do — unless  it  was  James 
Curdy — and  what  he  saw  and  felt  Lord  knows! 
Something  like  a  nightmare,  I  reckon! 

"Miss  Ellice's  cabin  was  high  on  the  mountain. 
They  stopped  shouting  when  they  got  nearly 
up  thar.  They  thought  that  if  before  that  Miss 
Ellice  heard  them  she'd  just  think  it  was  some 
jamboree  going  on  alongside  of  mountain. 
James  Curdy  had  such  a  rule  that  he  could 
bring  even  the  drunken  ones  quiet  for  a  bit.  So 
they  stole  up  the  path,  and  Jonathan  said  that 
the  cabin  above  them  looked  like  a  goldy  leaf 
hanging  still,  or  like  an  empty  nest.  So  they 
went  up  in  a  string  till  they  got  to  where  the 
trees  stopped  and  there  was  just  some  bushes 
and  grass.  And  then  they  spread  out,  and  went 
on  in  a  bunch,  and  James  Curdy  cried  in  a  loud 
voice, '  Woman,  come  forth ! '  But  the  shut  door 
didn't  open.  Then  he  cried  it  again,  and  then 
he  opened  that  tight  mouth  of  his  the  third 
time.  He  had  more  learning  than  most  of  the 
mountain  and  he  used  big  words.  '  Blaspheming 
atheist,  come  forth!'  But  the  others  wouldn't 

112 


SWEET  ROCKET 

stay  quiet  any  longer,  and  they  shouted,  '  Witch ! 
Witch!' 

"The  door  stayed  shut,  and  Jonathan  said 
that  the  cabin  hung  like  a  goldy  leaf  or  a  nest 
high  up  on  a  bright,  still  winter  day.  Jonathan 
says  there  was  something  so  still  and  sunny 
there  that  it  stilled  the  shouting.  Then  they 
opened  the  door,  for  it  wasn't  bolted,  and  those 
that  could  get  in  went  in — James  Curdy  at  the 
head.  Those  outside  spread  around  so  's  they 
could  catch  her  if  she  run  out.  But  Miss  Ellice 
wasn't  at  home.  She  was  gone. 

"Thar  was  her  half -braided  rug  and  her  chair 
and  a  little  fire  on  the  hearth.  But  she  wasn't 
there.  It  turned  out  that  she  had  taken  a  bag 
and  a  basket  with  her  clothes,  and  a  little  money 
she  had.  And  then  Mat  Waters  found  the  letter 
on  the  table,  and  Jonathan  Morgan  read  it, 
because  James  Curdy  had  left  his  spectacles  at 
home.  And  if  you'll  believe  me  it  was  directed 
to  'James  Curdy  and  Matthew  Waters  and 
Jonathan  Morgan  and  their  Company.'  Inside 
it  said  just  this:  'I've  loved  this  cabin  and  this 
mountain.  But  now  I  remove  myself  from 
among  you.  Yet  I  love  this  place  where  I  have 
been,  and  am,  and  shall  be.  Now  abideth  Faith, 
Hope,  and  Charity,  but  the  greatest  of  these  is 
Charity.'  And  then  there  was  the  name,  Ann 
Ellice. 

"Jonathan  said  half  of  them  were  still  drunk 
and  outrageous  because  they  couldn't  have  their 

"3 


SWEET  ROCKET 

fun  at  Dumb  Child's  Pool.  A  lot  didn't  even 
listen  to  the  letter,  seeing  with  their  own  eyes 
that  Miss  Ellice  was  gone.  James  Curdy  lis- 
tened, and  his  face  got  white  and  his  eyes  red 
coals.  '  She's  brazen ! '  says  he.  '  The  devil  talks 
Scripture  to  his  own  damnation ! '  He  went  out 
of  door  and  looked  about  him.  But  most  of  the 
rest  didn't  see  anything  but  that  they'd  lost 
something  exciting  to  do.  They  began  to  break 
up  the  furniture.  Then  some  one  raked  the  coals 
and  brands  out  over  the  floor  and  they  set  the 
straw  bed  on  fire.  But  Jonathan  took  the  letter 
and  a  book  or  two  she  had — Lucinda's  got  the 
books  now.  But  James  Curdy  stood  outside  and 
looked  down  mountain.  'That's  Harris's  cabin 
a  mile  over  thar.  It's  likely  she's  thar.'  And  he 
began  to  go  down  over  mountain  side.  Mat 
Waters  and  Jonathan  Morgan  followed  him, 
and  so  did  about  half  of  the  others.  The  rest 
stayed  to  burn  the  cabin.  The  witch  had  gone 
off  on  a  broomstick  for  them ! 

"The  Harrises  were  a  kind  of  lonely  folk  that 
didn't  go  much  to  church  or  nowhar.  They 
mightn't  even  have  heard  of  Brother  Carra- 
way's  sermon.  She  might  be  thar,  as  James 
Curdy  thought.  But  she  wasn't.  She  had  been 
thar,  they  said,  jest  a  minute.  She'd  looked  in 
on  old  Aunt  Viny  Harris  and  said  she  was  going 
away.  Said  she  was  going  to  foot  of  mountain 
to  Norwood,  whar  you  get  the  train.  Aunt  Viny 

asked  when  she  was  coming  back,  and  Miss  Ellice 

114 


SWEET  ROCKET 

i 

smiled  and  said  she  didn't  think  she  was  coming 
back.  '  Whar  was  she  going  to  live? '  She  said 
she  didn't  exactly  know,  but  she  had  kinsmen  who 
would  take  care  of  her.  'Aye/  said  Aunt  Viny, 
'  you're  a  master  weaver  and  worker,  and  any  folk 
ought  to  be  glad  to  have  such  a  handy  woman 
around ! '  Which  shows  that  the  Harrises  hadn't 
heard  anything.  And  so  Aunt  Viny  said  Miss 
Ellice  said  good-by  very  friendly,  and  went  on 
down  mountain.  James  Curdy  wanted  to  set  a 
hound  of  Harris's  on  her  track,  and  the  drunk 
ones  shouted  at  that,  and  one  staggered  out  to 
get  the  dawg.  But  Jonathan,  he  represented  that 
Miss  Ellice  would  be  'most  down  mountain  now 
and  out  on  big  road  where  the  tracks  would  be 
all  mixed  up  and  covered,  and  anyhow  the  folk 
down  there  wouldn't  understand  and  let  it  be 
done.  By  that  time  the  cabin  was  burning  up 
on  mountain  above  them.  They  could  see  the 
smoke  and  light.  James  Curdy  had  to  let  it  be, 
though  doubtless  he  had  some  hard  thoughts  of 
the  Almighty.  Well,  that  is  the  end  of  it !  She 
didn't  ever  come  back.  It  ain't  much  of  a  story. 
I  don't  know  why  I  told  it  to  you." 
"You  don't  know  where  she  went?" 
"No.  Mountain  folk  ain't  curious  in  them 
ways.  You'd  better  have  let  me  sing  to  you 
about  John  Horn.  Lucinda  says  she  took  her 
body  away,  but  not  her  spirit.  Says  she  can  feel 
her  any  still  and  sunny  day.  I  reckon  Jonathan 
Morgan  feels  the  same  way.  I  don't  know. 

"5 


SWEET  ROCKET 

It's  been  a  long  time  ago!  Brother  Carraway's 
dead  and  Jonathan  Morgan  is  Brother  Morgan 
now  and  preaches  in  the  old  church.  Things  air 
sure  changing  in  this  world!  Last  summer  I 
heard  him  say  myself  that  Christ  was  inside  us 
and  not  outside — might  never  have  been  out- 
side us,  so  much  in  the  world  being  parable! 
James  Curdy's  so  old  now  he  couldn't  do  any- 
thing but  look  mad  as  an  old  beast  in  winter 
and  get  right  up  and  go  out  of  church,  looking 
like  a  snow  cloud  and  talking  to  himself.  .  .  . 
Lucinda  says  people  keep  on  acting  and  per- 
suading if  we  see  them  or  if  we  don't  see  them!" 
He  lifted  himself,  long,  lank,  and  brown,  and 
moved  from  the  hemlock.  "You  air  welcome — • 
Mr.  Smith,  you'd  better  speak  to  Jim  Harris 
about  them  logs." 


XIII 

MALCOLM  SMITH,  talking  with  Curtin  in 
the  cool  twilight,  before  Hall's,  had  no 
word  against  Drew's  departure  for  Sweet  Rocket. 
"He's  a  valuable,  likable  fellow!  There's  a 
curious  sense  when  you  are  with  him  of  depth 
or  background  that  he  doesn't  understand  him- 
self. Violin  wood !  He  says  that  this  friend  of 
yours  has  something  to  teach  that  he  wants  to 
learn.  That's  all  right!  I  can  generally  tell 
when  a  man's  real  destiny  is  ruling  him.  I've 
got  that  feeling  now  about  Drew.  He  needs  to 
buy  in  a  certain  city  and  he's  going  there.  If 
we're  here  next  year — and  there's  a  lot  to  do  on 
Rock  Mountain — I'll  be  glad  to  take  him  on 
again." 

Bedtime  came.  Again  Curtin  slept  pro- 
foundly, restfully,  waked  early,  and  climbed 
again  to  crest  of  mountain  to  see  again  the  sun 
rise  over  so  great  expanse.  He  sat  in  the  stone 
chair  and  before  him  hung  the  morning  star  and 
the  senescent  moon.  Below  them  was  spread 
violet  and  jonquil  and  one  strange  sea  of  blue. 

Again  he  felt  the  Spiritual  Sun.  He  thought : 
"This  is  what  they  have  perceived  at  Sweet 

117 


SWEET  ROCKET 

Rocket.  They  have  not  waited  for  death.  They 
live  now,  and  forever,  and  know  it.  This  body 
will  go  from  them,  but  they  are  building  or 
remembering — I  do  not  know  which,  and  per- 
haps it  is  both — a  life  that  will  not  go  from  them. 
And  I  also,  also,  though  I  am  a  babe  yet — " 

Sitting  in  the  hollow  of  stone  at  the  top  of  the 
upraised  wave  of  earth  he  watched  the  sunrise 
from  Rock  Mountain.  .  .  .  He  conceived  that 
what  was  true  of  him  was  true  of  others,  had 
been  true  age  after  age,  was  true  now  over  this 
round  earth  of  others.  He  thought:  "There has 
always  been  a  fellowship.  The  eidelweiss  does 
not  guess  the  roses  and  the  heliotrope,  nor  the 
violet  and  the  meadow  rue.  But  at  last  the  gar- 
den of  the  earth  guesses!  It  becomes  the  living 
garden.  The  living  garden  becomes  the  living 
man.  Naught  is  right,  naught  is  reasonable, 
until  you  get  it  from  the  whole." 

The  sun  rose,  the  earth  turned  ruddy.  Cur- 
tin  went  down  the  path  to  Hall's,  breakfasting 
there  with  the  men  who  worked  with  head  and 
hands.  This  morning  he  and  Drew  would  start 
for  Sweet  Rocket.  Drew's  slender  luggage  was 
going  down  mountain  to  Norwood,  whence  the 
train  would  take  it  to  Alder.  Every  one 
liked  Drew,  even  Cooper  who  laughed  at  him. 
"Good  luck,  old  farmer!  Ride  over  and  see  us 
sometime!" 

The  two  rode  down  Rock  and  crossed  a  vale, 
like  a  green  and  gold  ribbon,  and  went  up  Bear 

118 


SWEET  ROCKET 

Mountain,  where  the  oaks  were  all  deep  colored, 
and  down  Bear  and  over  forested  hills  and  on 
by  the  trail  that  struck  into  the  Alder  road. 
They  went  rather  silently,  but  in  a  deep,  con- 
tented companionship.  Once  Drew  spoke.  "He 
said,  'A  good  present  is  one  in  which  the  past 
betters  its  condition."  When  he  said  "he" 
there  was  meant  Richard  Linden.  After  this 
there  was  silence  again,  both  having  struck  some 
road  within,  where  is  the  network  composed  of 
all  the  roads  of  the  world. 

They  approached  Sweet  Rocket.  The  forest 
fell  away.  Before  them  shone  the  river,  the 
wheat  and  orchard  land,  and  the  ruddy  house 
with  its  pillars  of  mellowed  white,  and  the  hills 
that  inclosed.  Through  part  of  the  day  clouds 
had  been  driving  across  the  sky.  Now  they 
were  sinking  before  the  southwest  wind,  leaving 
the  blue  arch.  They  were  variformed,  castles 
and  towers,  bridges,  alps,  cities,  ships,  mythical 
beasts,  giants.  Light  embraced  them  in  a  spray 
of  colors.  Crossing  to  it,  for  one  instant,  Curtin 
saw  Sweet  Rocket  transfigured.  All  that  was 
strong  and  fair  became  a  hundredfold  stronger, 
fairer.  All  that  deterred  or  roughened  or  over- 
weighted or  twisted  or  weakened  vanished  in 
warmth  and  light.  A  sheath,  or  husk,  or  bun- 
fell  away.  Interior  power  rousing  itself,  he  saw 
the  place  in  its  seraph  aspect,  eternal  in  the 
heavens.  Drew  seemed  to  share  the  perception. 
He  said,  abruptly,  "There  is  splendor!" 

119 


SWEET  ROCKET 

They  felt  splendor;  then  it  closed,  like  light 
withdrawn,  warmth  screened  away.  There 
stood  Sweet  Rocket  in  its  earthly  estate.  That 
is,  they  thought  it  its  old  earthly  estate.  But 
by  that  much  it  had  become  endowed  and  was 
not  the  old  earthly  estate.  They  had  checked 
their  horses.  Curtin  said,  "So  it  was  always  in 
poetry!" 

The  younger  man  had  a  curious  gesture. 
"We  gather  all  the  household  gear  into  the  long 
ship,  and  put  forth!" 

But  Curtin  thought,  "In  the  Bible  Noah 
gathers  all  the  lifeseed  into  the  Ark  and  rides 
the  waters  into  a  new  world." 

They  crossed  the  river  and  went  up  the  little 
glistening  beach  and  by  the  cedars  to  the  house. 
Sweet  Rocket  welcomed  them  home,  the  white 
folk  and  the  colored  folk  and  Tarn.  They  found 
the  household  increased  by  two. 

Linden  said,  "These  are  my  cousins,  Robert 
and  Frances  Dane,  who  come  for  a  little  while 
each  year  to  Sweet  Rocket." 

They  were  a  married  pair,  a  little  above  forty, 
perhaps,  the  mark  of  the  city  upon  them.  They 
had  quick  and  nervous  bodies,  thin,  lined  faces, 
eyes  well  apart,  burning  deep  and  very  steady, 
lips  tending  to  compression.  They  seemed  tired 
— about  them  breathed  something  of  soldiers 
after  a  long  day's  march  through  hostile  ele- 
ments. This  was  bivouac,  this  was  rest!  At 
first  they  were  too  tired,  there  was  almost  re- 

I2O 


SWEET  ROCKET 

sentment.  "O  God,  how  can  you  be  still  and 
ageless?  "  This  changed,  little  by  little,  at  Sweet 
Rocket.  The  overtension  disappeared.  They 
were  left  taut,  collected,  wary — workers  worthy 
of  praise  in  a  dangerous  world. 

At  the  supper  table  that  evening  Curtin  made 
out  more  and  more  of  their  life.  They  had 
come  yesterday,  a  little  before  their  set  time, 
and  Anna  Darcy  had  the  start  of  him  in  ac- 
quaintanceship. Intellectual  radicals  certainly, 
members  of  some  group  in  action,  probably  of 
more  groups  than  one,  jack  of  all  agitations  and 
master  of  one.  He  could  hear  them  speaking, 
in  halls,  and  under  open  sky,  and  he  could  see 
the  face  of  the  throng  to  which  they  spoke. 
They  would  be  speaking  of  Soviet  Russia,  of 
Guild  Socialism,  of  Employer  and  Employed 
and  the  Course  of  Labor  that  did  never  yet  run 
smooth.  There  were  causes,  not  so  apparently 
economic,  for  which  also  they  would  work.  He 
heard  them  speaking  for  the  Suffrage  Amend- 
ment and  likewise  for  the  release  ot  Conscientious 
Objectors.  They  belonged  here,  they  belonged 
there.  The  one,  he  was  later  told,  was  Associate 
Editor  of  a  Journal  that  was  making  the  step 
from  liberalism  of  the  left  to  communism  of  the 
right.  The  woman  was  an  admirable  violinist. 
He  knew  that  they  lived  on  little  and  gave  much 
of  that  little  away.  They  lived  where  it  was 
possible  to  live  in  one  big  room  and  three  small 
rooms.  They  had  a  son  who  was  doing  well  at 

121 


SWEET  ROCKET 

a  school  they  liked  in  the  country.  To  look  at 
them  was  to  see  how  hard  they  worked,  and  to 
look  into  their  eyes  was  to  see  the  beacon  that 
set  them  and  kept  them  at  work.  They  also 
had  vision  of  Oneness. 

Though  in  talking  Linden  and  Marget  used 
in  a  much  less  marked  degree  the  terminology 
used  by  the  newcomers,  it  seemed  to  present  no 
difficulties  to  them.  They  seemed  to  under- 
stand these  guests,  as  they  understood  those 
others  who  had  come  to  Sweet  Rocket  this 
October,  to  understand  and  to  travel  with  them. 
Curtin  thought:  "They  sympathize.  It  does 
not  occur  to  them  to  say,  'Do  something  else, 
take  another  road!"  He  thought:  "That  is 
their  strength.  They  utterly  share." 

Frances  Dane  had  brought  her  violin  to  Sweet 
Rocket.  -Yesterday  it  had  been  laid  in  the  par- 
lor. Now,  after  supper,  sitting  by  the  fire  in  the 
old  room,  the  violin  spoke.  It  told  of  the  play- 
er's passion  for  the  world,  of  the  man  who  wrote 
that  music's  passion  for  the  world,  of  the  passion 
for  the  world  of  all  makers  of  violins,  and  of  the 
trees  whose  wood  was  used,  of  the  passion  for 
the  world  that  is  progression  and  revolution, 
of  the  passion  for  the  world  that  is  the  slower 
rate  that  is  called  withstanding  progression  and 
revolution,  of  the  passion  for  the  world  that  is 
music,  of  the  passion  for  the  world  yesterday, 
to-day,  and  forever,  of  the  passion  for  the  world 
that  every  heart  of  us  knows! 

122 


XIV 

"  TT  is  something  like  this,"  said  Linden.  "We 
1  are  One  Being  with  its  mighty  potencies. 
All  that  comes  in  comes  to  us,  all  that  goes  forth 
goes  from  us.  The  points  that  take,  ponder, 
sort,  combine,  alter  to  better  liking;  the  mighty 
poles,  the  mighty  afferent  and  efferent  that  flow 
from  pole  to  pole,  all  that  is  movement,  that  is 
gravitation,  that  is  cohesion,  that  is  justice,  that 
is  harmony,  that  is  love,  are  Ours.  We  go  as 
we  have  gone  through  time,  from  and  toward 
— the  from  that  is  also  toward,  the  toward  that 
is  also  from.  But  something  beyond  Time  as 
we  have  known  it,  beyond  Space  and  Causation 
as  we  have  known  them,  increases  upon  us. 
Consciousness  in  some  sort  of  the  whole  orb, 
awareness  through  and  through,  is  momentously 
upon  us  to-day.  In  the  end  all  desire  is  desire 
for  that." 

"We  shall  move  then  in  four-space?" 

"  If  you  choose  to  put  it  so.    It  is  an  allowable 

figure.    All  that  present  language  can  devise  is 

but  a  word,  a  figure,  a  symbol.    What  we  mean 

is  the  next  advance  in   consciousness.     When 

you  have  it  you  know  it." 

123 


SWEET  ROCKET 

They  were  treading  a  slender  path  through 
October  fields.  Now  they  were  in  a  great, 
climbing  cornfield,  all  stacked  corn  like  brown 
wigwams,  and  here  and  there  upon  the  brown 
and  stubbly  earth  the  orange  of  pumpkins.  The 
air  folded  them  in  violet  and  gold  dust  and  faint 
frankincense.  The  hills  had  changed  in  color, 
so  many  leaves  being  shaken  down.  On  days 
like  this  the  mountains  were  evidently  entranced. 
It  was  Indian  summer  before  the  Indian  summer 
time.  "A  new  consciousness?"  said  Frances 
Dane,  walking  with  Curtin.  "A  farther-on  con- 
sciousness? It  is  in  the  air  to-day!" 

"Yes." 

"Wise  men  saying,  'We  have  seen  His  star  in 
the  east—'  Oh,  that's  a  figure!" 

"There  is  some  Reality,  or  thousands  of  us 
would  not  be  hearkening,  as  we  are  hearkening. 
...  A  new  man,  a  new  creature.  .  .  .  It's  a  con- 
summation devoutly  to  be  desired!" 

The  heaped  corn  stood  around,  the  orange 
globes  made  constellations  on  the  earth.  They 
were  now  well  up  the  slope,  at  their  feet  Sweet 
Rocket  and  the  little  sliding  river.  All  was  re- 
flected, all  was  veiled,  but  now  and  again  eyes 
looked  through  the  veil.  Reaching  the  top  of 
the  hill  they  found  there  a  tall,  solitary  tree — 
a  black  gum — and  built  around  it  a  bench.  It 
linked  in  Curtin's  mind  with  the  sycamore  before 
the  overseer's  house. 

They  sat  upon  the  bench  and  upon  the  ring 
124 


SWEET  ROCKET 

of  brown  grass  that  ran  around  the  tree.  The 
view  was  fair  and  they  rested  in  silence.  It  was 
Anna  Darcy  who  noticed  how  much  silence  there 
was  at  Sweet  Rocket — silence  that  sang,  that 
caressed.  Moments  went  by,  silence  held  them, 
fair  solitude,  sense  of  one  person  here  alone. 
Tarn  moved,  coming  nearer  to  Linden.  The  lat- 
ter's  hand  dropped  to  Tarn's  head.  Anna  Darcy 
heard  a  low  sigh  of  relief  and  burden  lifted.  It 
came,  she  thought,  from  Frances  Dane,  who  sat 
near  her  upon  the  grass.  But  it  might  have  come 
from  more  than  Frances,  from  all. 

Stillness  and  silence  deepened.  There  grew  a 
cathedral  sense,  a  desert,  an  ocean  sense.  Into 
that  entered  a  wealth  of  light  and  strength.  A 
vast  wave  of  freedom,  an  access  of  life,  lifted 
them.  They  had  life  and  they  had  it  more 
abundantly.  They  seemed  to  themselves  to 
flash  together,  and  of  them  all  was  made  a  god. 
For  an  instant  there  held  an  intense  vision  of 
this  valley  and  of  Sweet  Rocket  transfigured. 
Color  and  sound  lived,  every  movement  was  of 
joy.  That  broke  away,  vanished  like  the  image 
of  a  rose  into  the  image  of  a  garden  of  ten 
thousand.  Then  that  was  gone  into  an  image 
of  all  the  earth,  and  then  that  into  intense, 
sheer,  mighty  Living,  with  small  regard  to  old 
space  and  time,  abounding,  keen,  a  Reality 
leaving  old  reality  behind. 

"When  it  is  all  done,  when  it  is  all  known,  all 
felt,  when  we  are  fully,  completely  ourself ,  when 
9  125 


SWEET  ROCKET 

we  remember  our  Godhood  and  live  it,  when 
we  do  not  look  through  storm  for  the  lighthouse 
ray  because  we  are  Light,  when  we  do  not  cry 
Father  and  Son  because  we  are  both  and  know 
it,  when  there  is  glory  of  home,  glory  of  health, 
glory  of  love — " 

Who  had  spoken  they  did  not  know ;  it  seemed 
their  common  voice.  Perhaps  it  was  Linden, 
but  if  so  he  spoke  as  their  common  voice.  Into 
it  came  not  only  the  voice  of  the  seven  there,  but 
the  voice  of  old  Mr.  Morrowcombe  and  the 
Carters,  and  of  Mrs.  Cliff  and  Mirny  and  Zinia 
and  Mancy  and  the  others;  not  just  the  voice 
of  Sweet  Rocket,  but  the  voice  of  Alder,  and  of 
many  an  Alder,  big  and  little,  the  voice  of  the 
city  and  the  country,  the  land  and  the  sea.  "To 
be  well!  Oh,  rise  within  me,  truest  Self,  with 
healing  in  thy  wings!" 

The  great,  golden  feeling  passed,  leaving 
echoes,  leaving  memory.  These  folk  were 
separate  again  where  they  had  been  one,  but 
not  so  separate.  In  and  out  hovered  that  breath 
of  transfiguration,  a  day  of  spring  in  late  winter, 
dying,  but  with  a  tongue  to  tell  of  a  time  when 
it  would  not  die.  Where  all  had  been  vivid, 
singing,  laughing,  now  was  the  wonted  gentle- 
ness of  this  valley,  a  dreaminess  shot  with  gold, 
taking  and  giving,  but  doing  it  subtly,  silently, 
only  now  and  then  bestowing  evidence  of  a 
vast  interpenetrative  life,  showing  like  the  eyes 
through  the  veil  of  this  Indian  summer  day. 

126 


SWEET  ROCKET 

They  went  down  through  the  corn  and  out 
by  a  gate,  set  in  the  gray  and  lichened  rail  fence, 
where  grew  sumac  and  farewell-summer  and 
the  feathery  traveler's- joy.  They  walked  in 
meadows  by  the  river,  and  at  last  through  the 
orchard,  and  so  to  the  house.  Mirny,  in  the 
kitchen,  was  singing: 

"Oh,  Jesus  tell  you  once  befo', 
Babylon's  fallin'  to  rise  no  mo'. 
Oh,  go  in  peace  and  sin  no  mo', 
Babylon's  fallin'  to  rise  no  mo'!" 

In  the  evening  Frances  played  again  to  them, 
and  the  rich  and  sweet  music  filled  the  old  room. 
The  violin  put  by,  they  talked  by  the  fire;  then 
Linden  said,  "Read  for  a  little  while,  Marget." 
She  took  up  a  volume  of  Blake,  and  read.  "Read 
that  letter  to  Butts. ' '  She  read : 

"...  Over  sea,  over  land 
My  eyes  did  expand 
Into  regions  of  fire, 
Remote  from  desire; 
The  light  of  the  morning 
Heaven's  mountains  adorning; 
In  particles  bright, 
The  jewels  of  light 
Distinct  shone  and  clear. 
Amazed  and  in  fear 
I  each  particle  gazed, 
Astonished,  amazed; 
For  each  was  a  Man 
Human  formed.    Swift  I  ran, 
For  they  beckoned  to  me, 
Remote  by  the  sea, 
127 


SWEET  ROCKET 

Saying:  'Each  grain  of  sand, 

Every  stone  on  the  land, 

Each  rock  and  each  hill, 

Each  fountain  and  rill, 

Each  herb  and  each  tree, 

Mountain,  hill,  earth  and  sea, 

Cloud,  meteor  and  star, 

Are  men  seen  afar.'  .  .  . 

My  eyes,  more  and  more, 

Like  a  sea  without  shore, 

Continue  expanding, 

The  heavens  commanding; 

Till  the  jewels  of  light, 

Heavenly  men  beaming  bright, 

Appeared  as  One  Man, 

Who  complacent  began 

My  limbs  to  enfold 

In  his  beams  of  bright  gold; 

Like  dross  purged  away 

All  my  mire  and  clay. 

Soft  consumed  in  delight, 

In  his  bosom  sun  bright 

I  remained.    Soft  He  smiled. 

And  I  heard  his  voice  mild, 

Saying:  'This  is  my  fold, 

O  thou  ram  horned  with  gold, 

Who  awakest  from  sleep 

On  the  sides  of  the  deep.'  .  .  ." 


XV 


"  CNERGY  in  larger  units,  affinities  gathering 

lj  strength  and  flowing  together  with  power !" 
said  Curtin.  "Everyone  has  seen  it  and  felt  it 
in  some  wise.  When  it  is  blamable,  unguided, 
1  mob  spirit ' !  When  it  is  praised, '  esprit  de  corps, 
mass  heroism,  mass  enthusiasm,  conflagration  of 
genius,  voice  of  the  people,  unity  of  spirit,'  what 
not!  Most  folk  have  a  glimpse  of  the  fact  that 
there  is  an  ocean  of  desire,  emotion,  will,  as  well 
as  rivers  and  rivulets." 

Marget  came  and  sat  with  them  on  the  steps 
of  the  little  summer-house  in  the  flower  garden. 
She  wore  a  great  check  apron,  denoting  house- 
keeping and  helping  Zinia.  She  sat  down  beside 
them.  "What  have  you  been  doing,  Marget?" 

"Once  a  week  Zinia  and  I  have  a  general 
straightening  day.  Then  my  mother  and  I  have 
been  visiting  together." 

"Truly,  truly,  Marget?" 

"Truly.  But  in  a  little  wider  order,  my  dear, 
a  little  wider  order!  The  order  above  this  order 
— into  which  this  will  melt.  Mother  and  father, 
and  Will  and  Edgar." 

"Two  of  those  are  living  and  two  are  dead." 
129 


SWEET  ROCKET 

Marget  smiled.     ' '  Ask  Wordsworth ! ' ' 

"I  see,"  said  Anna  Darcy. 

"Very  well.    Do  more  than  that.    Touch!" 

With  a  trail  of  ivy  in  her  hand  she  looked 
past  the  snapdragon  and  marigold  and  larkspur, 
still  blooming,  so  rich  and  mild  had  been  this 
autumn.  "Then,  as  the  rooms  grew  clean,  I 
was  with  my  mother  in  her  birthplace,  two  hun- 
dred miles  from  here.  We  were  there  as  adults, 
moving,  loving,  understanding  with  a  grown 
mind,  but  there  in  her  childhood  and  girlhood 
as  well,  loving  to  contemplate  all  the  past  that 
was  us  two!  Mine  as  hers,  hers  as  mine.  Mind 
and  feeling  ran  and  caught  up  with  her  brothers 
and  sisters,  her  parents  and  friends.  Her  parents 
remembered  their  parents  and  those  remembered 
theirs.  Home  rose  after  home,  garden  after  gar- 
den, loved  place  after  loved  place."  Her  eyes 
were  upon  Drew,  whose  eyes  were  upon  her. 
"Do  you  not  see  that  you  can,  that  you  will, 
recover  it  all?  All  that  you  have  been,  and  you 
have  been  very  much ;  all  that  you  are,  and  you 
are  very  much !" 

Mirny's  singing  floated  to  them  from  the 
kitchen : 

"There's  a  great  camp  meeting  in  the  Promised  Land, 
Oh,  pat  yo'  foot,  chillun,  don't  you  get  weary! 
There's  a  great  camp  meeting  in  the  Promised  Land." 

"And  then,"  said  Marget,  "I  was  in  Rome 
with  Richard.  The  sun  shone,  the  wind  was  in 

130 


SWEET  ROCKET 

cypress  and  pine,  the  fountains  made  liquid 
sound.  Father  Tiber  glided,  Saint  Peter's 
stood.  We  went  to  the  Sistine  Chapel,  and  then 
it  was  the  Capitol  within  and  without,  and  then 
the  Appian  Way  and  all  the  Campagna — all 
Rome — not  to-day  alone,  but  all  Rome.  And 
then  not  Rome,  but  starlight  nights  from  the 
decks  of  ships.  And  then — " 

"This  was  actuality,  while  your  hands  swept 
and  dusted  the  parlor  there?" 

"My  body  was  in  its  duty  and  happy  there. 
Yes.  Actuality,  but  of  another  order,  an  order 
we  are  coming  into.  The  order  of  intensified, 
guided,  realized  memory  and  imagination." 

"And  of  reason?" 

"  And  of  reason.  Profoundly  so.  It  is  reason 
that  is  guiding.  Reason  has  its  higher  levels, 
grows  comprehensive,  knows  longer  sequences, 
completer  syntheses.  And  from  the  decks  of 
ships  we  were  in  the  desert  watching  the  stars, 
shepherds  on  the  hills  and  shepherds  on  the 
plains,  shepherds  and  villagers  and  wanderers 
of  far  days!"  She  lifted  hand  and  arm  in  a 
curious  and  commanding  gesture.  "Watching 
the  skies  above  Queen  Rain  and  King  Wind! 
In  desert  and  plain  and  upon  hills  and  on  seas, 
thousands  and  thousands  of  us  strewn  in  time!" 

For  an  appreciable  moment,  to  some  degree, 
those  listening  to  her  became  aware  of,  made, 
as  it  were,  junction  with  their  own  far  wandering, 
far  wondering,  savage  and  barbarian  self.  It 


SWEET  ROCKET. 

was  evident  that  Drew  made  junction.  They 
touched  the  mind  struggling  there,  and  the  lifted 
gaze.  The  sense  was  one  of  enormous,  calm 
pervasion.  They  entered  into,  they  aided,  their 
own  early  man,  where  he  marked  the  heavens, 
and  around  them  was  the  wistfulness  of  early 
lands. 

Marget  spoke  on.  "Then  while  I  worked  we 
were  building  pyramids  and  mountains  of  the 
god.  We  were  watching  and  watching,  pattern- 
ing and  naming,  comparing,  all  the  skies,  the 
moon,  and  the  planets  and  the  times  of  the  sun, 
and  the  white  path  through  the  heavens  and  the 
great  named  princes — everywhere,  swarthy  folk 
and  pale  folk!  Now  we  were  many  and  many. 
Then  in  us  rose  the  Devoted,  the  Searchers  of 
the  skies,  seeking  from  city  roofs  and  temple 
roofs  knowledge  of  the  Whole  for  the  Whole." 

Their  interior  self  opened  its  wings  and  used 
its  eyes.  As  space  expanded,  so  did  time.  They 
were  there  in  the  October  sunshine,  on  the 
summer-house  steps,  but  likewise  they  attended, 
and  in  some  vast,  liberated  way  they  were  that 
collective  effort,  that  process.  They  might  carry 
the  method  over  into  all  processes.  There  swam 
across  the  mind  other  words — "commerce" — 
"government" — "family" — many  and  many  a 
word. 

Marget's  voice  went  on.  "  Now  one  has  made 
a  telescope.  Our  theories  change;  we  stand  on 
dead  theories  and  study  on.  Thousands  of  us 

132 


SWEET  ROCKET 

studying,  thousands  building  knowledge,  learn- 
ing vision!  We  gaze,  we  watch,  we  turn  to  desks 
and  write  and  figure,  we  reason,  we  divine,  we 
better  our  instruments,  we  gather  results  and 
make  fortunate  guesses,  we  hearken  to  intuition. 
We  stand  on  a  mossy  stone  in  space  and  study 
the  Promised  Land,  the  universe  that  is  ours, 
the  ever  perpetuating,  the  ever  bettering!  Time 
widens.  Here  are  mountain  summits  and  the 
observatories  of  this  day,  and  the  clockwork 
and  the  pierced  dome,  and  the  great  eye  that 
we  have  made,  and  the  photograph.  Mind  sits 
at  the  knee  of  Great  Mind  and  learns  its  alpha- 
bet. And  all  the  thousands  that  were  and  are 
and  will  be  are  one  Astronomer,  and  it  is  I,  still 
working  to  know!"  She  ceased  to  speak,  and 
sat  wrapped  in  the  golden  light. 

Said  Robert  Dane:  "We  follow  where  you 
step.  You  make  us  follow  you." 

"I  do  not  make  you.  You  walk  with  me 
because  you  can  walk.  We  walk.  It  is  your 
Self  as  it  is  mine." 

"We  move  and  we  feel,  then,  where  you  are. 
You  live  there  more  fully  and  keenly  than  we, 
but  we  can  breathe  and  feel  and  see.  Go  on! 
We  would  have  your  life,  as  you  have  ours." 

"Then,  after  the  stars,  while  I  wound  the 
clocks,  I  walked  into  the  minute.  Again  thou- 
sands of  us  working  and  watching,  noting, 
divining — thousands  and  thousands,  years  past 
and  to-day  and  to-morrow!  And  one  devises 


SWEET  ROCKET 

the  microscope.  All  the  laboratories!  .  .  .  Into 
the  cell,  into  the  atom,  the  infinite  dance  of 
relativities  and  small  collections!  And  the  in- 
tensed,  pointed  endeavor,  using  perception  as 
fine  as  the  millionth  part  of  a  hair — we  knowing, 
marking,  understanding  ourself  there,  where  we 
are  moving  clouds!  We  working  there,  patient, 
patient,  the  god  working!  The  great  and  the 
small.  We  who  forever  remember  and  make 
richer  ourself.  We  the  I —  And  then  I  was 
again  with  my  dead,  who  are  just  as  much  and 
just  as  little  dead  as  I  myself!  And  then  I  came 
out  into  the  garden." 

They  sat  on  the  summer-house  steps,  and  the 
marigolds  glowed  around  them.  She  spoke 
again.  "Here  and  there,  throughout  the  past, 
and  often  now  I  think  in  our  own  day,  a  man  or 
woman  lays  hold  upon  faculties  that  some  day 
all  will  lay  hold  upon.  And  greater  things  than 
these.  Forerunners,  pioneers!  Regard  this  late 
flood  of  books  describing  communion  with  the 
dead  and  giving  detail  of  the  life  hereafter. 
What  they  describe  is  the  widening  conscious- 
ness here  and  now!  The  increasing  awareness. 
One  does  not  wait  for  death.  Richard  and  I 
would  not  have  you  think  that  we  are  deep, 
deep,  deep  in  that  realm.  Were  it  so  nothing 
could  hide  it.  Were  we  or  any  full  in  the  next 
order  you  would  see  the  shining.  We  are  not 
there,  but  we  are  in  motion  toward  it,  as  are 
many  to-day.  The  road  thitherward  has  its 

134 


SWEET  ROCKET 

great  scenery  and  long,  thrilling  adventure! 
And  you,  too,  all  of  you,  too,  are  in  motion 
toward  it.  In  this  day  of  ours,  each  day  of  the 
sun,  more  and  more  are  in  motion." 

She  rose  from  the  step.  "I  have  rested  this 
body  that  we  call  Marget  Land  and  now  I  shall 
put  it  again  to  work  in  the  house  we  call  Sweet 
Rocket." 


XVI 

evening,  after  she  had  played  to  them, 
I  Frances  fell  to  telling  of  a  crippled  boy, 
almost  a  man,  living  in  a  poor  flat  in  New  York, 
the  father  an  overworked  head  clerk,  the  mother 
a  strong,  gadabout,  well-meaning  person,  more 
apt  to  reproach  than  to  sustain.  There  was  a 
sister,  a  stenographer,  who  meant  to  marry,  if 
she  could,  some  employer.  This  nineteen-year- 
old  boy  had  a  passion  for  travel,  who  could 
rarely  travel  as  far  as  the  street.  At  intervals, 
when  his  father  had  leisure  to  accompany  him, 
he  went  to  a  movie.  If  the  piece  had  scenery, 
country  and  ocean  and  strange  cities,  moving 
throngs  and  great  buildings  and  places  of  which 
he  had  read,  he  was  happy.  He  took  the  Geo- 
graphic, and  got  travel  books  from  a  library. 
He  knew  more  of  the  earth's  surface  than  did 
many  a  "traveled"  person.  But  it  was  hot  in 
the  city,  in  his  little  stuffy  room,  or  it  was  cold 
in  the  city  in  houses  that  could  never  buy  coal 
in  quantity.  He  had  a  good  deal  of  pain,  and 
his  eyes  got  bigger  and  bigger. 

Curtin  had  claimed  the  small  bedroom  at  the 
end  of  the  upper  hall.    Drew  slept  in  the  dormer- 

136 


windowed  room  above.  Frances  and  Robert 
Dane  possessed  the  large  room  opposite  Mar- 
get's,  next  to  Linden's.  Here  were  four  windows 
and  each  narrow  bed  placed  where  it  might  look 
forth.  This  night  the  Danes  talked  awhile,  then 
addressed  themselves  to  sleep.  Robert  slept,  but 
Frances  found  that  she  was  wakeful.  Yet  she 
had  definitely  turned  from  care  and  question  of 
the  day,  from  concern  for  her  own  work  left  in 
suspension,  even  from  the  face  and  incident  of 
Sweet  Rocket.  From  her  pillow  she  saw  the 
stars  as  they  rimmed  and  rose  above  the  moun- 
tains. At  first  she  seemed  to  be  over  there,  with 
the  shadow  below  and  the  diamond  above,  but 
then  to  herself  she  left  it  all.  There  seemed 
naught  about  her  but  cool  space.  She  lay  with- 
out fret  at  wakefulness,  though  she  was  intensely 
awake. 

She  became  aware  that,  waking,  she  was  be- 
coming rested,  refreshed,  as  though  she  had  pro- 
foundly slept.  She  was  awake  above  the  old 
waking.  The  old  waking  was  dreaminess  to  this 
state.  Vigor  poured  into  her  being,  and  all  the 
past  was  passed.  That  is,  it  was  passed  in  its 
heaviness  and  friction,  its  strain  and  anxiety. 
All  that  seemed  to  drop  away,  like  dross  leaving 
gold.  It  was  curious,  her  sense  of  gold  color  of 
all  things  in  a  gold  light  of  their  own,  not  from 
without.  She  became  distinctly  aware  of  in- 
fluences. They  were  good.  She  acquiesced, 
"Yes,  I  will  travel  with  you."  Will  consenting, 

137 


SWEET  ROCKET 

her  strength  was  added  to  those  other  strengths. 
In  the  plane  where  she  now  was  flashed  out 
co-operation. 

Marget — Richard !  Certainly  they  were  where 
she  had  been  wont  to  call  "within  her."  But 
certainly  she  felt  them,  was  aware  of  them,  pres- 
ently saw  them,  as  never  had  she  done  before  in 
that  "within,"  though  often  in  memory,  thought, 
and  imagination  she,  like  others,  had  been  with 
Marget  and  Richard  there  "within."  She  had 
used  those  words  as  a  matter  of  course.  Even 
then  that  "within"  had,  when  you  examined  it, 
its  own  space  and  time,  its  own  mechanics, 
warmth,  color,  and  sound.  That  "within"  and 
this  "within"  were  of  a  piece,  but  where  that 
had  been  faintly  real  this  was  vividly  real.  She 
had  no  doubt  of  its  reality.  It  was  so,  but 
reality  of  another,  of  a  farther  on,  order.  Marget 
that  afternoon  had  talked  of  another  order.  It 
seemed  that  one  might  rise  or  deepen  into  it. 
She  was  consciously  there  now,  though  in  the 
order  below  it  she  rested  at  Sweet  Rocket.  It 
was  not  the  plane  of  tremendous  power  and 
illumination,  but  it  was  a  state  of  developed 
powers.  It  was  as  far  as  just  then  she  could  go. 

The  boy  Stuart — Stuart  Black.  How  many 
a  time  had  she  wished  that  she  could  give  this 
boy  travel!  "If  I  might  take  him  and  let  him 
see!"  As  he  had  longed,  as  he  had  imagined 
himself  traveling  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dane.  "If 
I  could  travel  with  you!"  And  now  to-night 

138 


SWEET  ROCKET 

they  had  somehow  caught  and  held  to  the  ether 
and  were  seeing  what  they  wished  to  see.  The 
influence,  the  individuality  that  was  Marget 
and  Richard  strongl)  aided. 

She  was  in  Rome  with  Marget  and  Richard 
and  Stuart  Black.  She  did  not  question  them 
nor  him,  and  the  boy  did  not  question.  They 
were  there,  and  it  was  sunny  weather,  and  they 
were  strong  and  happy.  They  stayed  in  no 
hotel,  they  depended  on  no  cab  nor  car,  they 
needed  no  food  of  the  old  sort.  When  they 
looked  at  one  another  they  saw  body,  since 
where  is  still  multiplicity  must  still  be  body. 
There  was  something  of  old  bodies  in  these 
bodies,  but  also  there  was  difference,  and  all  to 
the  good.  Old  defect  had  vanished.  Stuart 
Black  was  no  cripple;  she  herself  had  lost 
fatigue.  There  was  translucence,  a  golden  ap- 
pearance, and  where  they  wished  to  go  they 
were.  She  wished  for  Robert,  and  immediately 
felt  that  in  wishing  she  had  said  to  the  others, 
"I  wish."  They  strengthened  her  wish  with 
theirs.  Here,  then,  was  Robert  with  them, 
though  intermittently,  not  on  the  whole  so 
strongly,  but  coming  as  he  could  answer,  sleep- 
ing there  at  Sweet  Rocket.  And  now  and  then 
another  joined  them,  though  somewhat  dimly, 
and  that  was  the  boy's  father,  whom  he  loved 
and  wished  to  include  in  his  joy. 

The  body  of  Rome,  too,  was  like  and  not  like 
the  old  body  of  Rome.  Rome  had  a  Self  to 

139 


SWEET  ROCKET 

match  this  Self  of  theirs.  Spirit  and  body  and 
mind  and  soul,  Rome  understood  itself  better. 
There  rose  a  Rome  richer,  purer;  nothing  of 
fair  and  wonderful  lost,  all  such  quality  strength- 
ened; the  unfair,  unwise,  unstrong  of  old, 
everywhere  tending  to  drop  the  prefix.  Yet  to 
the  new  self  Rome  was  herself,  singing,  en- 
chanted, of  the  past  and  present  and  future. 

Marget  and  Richard,  who  seemed  truly  Mar- 
get-and-Richard,  one  word,  had  said,  "a  week 
in  Rome,"  and  that  was  what  seemed  to  pass. 
They  saw  as  in  old  travel  they  had  seen,  they 
went  about  as  in  old  travel  they  had  gone  about, 
they  enjoyed  as  in  old  times  they  had  enjoyed, 
but  with  freedom  and  power  and  joy  that  left 
the  old  behind.  All  was  vigor,  heightened  and 
transfiguring  perception,  and  yet  friendly,  home- 
like, not  solemn  nor  stilted,  the  boy  here  enjoy- 
ing like  a  boy.  Frances  became  aware  of  a 
control,  keeping  experience  to  a  vivid  and  fair 
finiteness,  not  sacrificing  current  form.  That 
was  for  the  boy's  sake,  perhaps  for  her  and 
Robert  also. 

And  after  Rome,  Athens — an  Athens,  too, 
sublimed.  And  after  Athens,  for  the  splendid 
richness  of  things  and  for  the  boy,  the  vast 
North,  forest  and  plain,  and  an  intense  exhilara- 
tion of  life  that  swept  out  upon  the  great  sea 
and  encircled  the  earth.  They  spent  long, 
bright  days  in  ships  and  at  ports  of  call.  Then 

they  went  to  China,  and  India,  and  Egypt.  They 

140 


SWEET  ROCKET 

crossed  the  desert  of  Sahara,  and  again  in  a  great 
ship  passed  between  the  Pillars  of  Hercules. 
Followed  ocean  days,  and  that  greater  will  and 
awareness  slowly  diminishing,  gently  returning 
upon  its  still  habitual  self.  Diminishing,  dimin- 
ishing, slower,  slower,  a  little  melancholy,  but 
tranquil,  with  a  subtle  smile. ...  A  sense  of  a 
giant  woman  in  stone  rising  from  an  islet  in  a 
harbor — a  sense  of  a  familiar  city  in  the  year  1920 
— a  sense  of  dreamy  farewells,  a  quiet  darkness 
and  lapse. . . . 

Frances  turned  herself  in  her  bed  at  Sweet 
Rocket.  Starlight  flooding  the  room  dimly  re- 
vealed walls  and  furniture.  Across  by  the  other 
window  Robert  lay  sleeping.  How  much  time 
had  passed,  or  how  little,  or  how  widely  could 
you  live  in  no  time  at  all?  Here  was  reality,  but 
there,  too,  had  been  reality!  It  had  been  real, 
that  companionship  and  that  travel.  The  mem- 
ory of  it  was  memory  of  reality.  Mind  had 
attended  there  not  less,  but  more  than  here. 
The  whole  compound  self  had  achieved  a  unity 
and  power.  Achievement — ungrown  wings — 
first  flights!  She  thought:  "The  possibilities! 
O  life  of  life,  our  possibilities ! "  Old  warmth  and 
drowsiness  took  her.  There  was  a  kindly  fatigue, 
as  though  she  had  walked  on  a  bright  day  to 
mountain  top  and  back  and  now  thrown  herself 
down  for  rest.  She  saw  the  stars  through  half- 
open  eyes,  then  slept. 

The  sun  was  streaming  in  when  she  waked; 
10  141 


SWEET  ROCKET 

Robert  already  up  and  dressing.  She  raised 
herself  upon  her  arm.  "Good  morning! " 

"Good  morning!" 

She  rubbed  her  eyes.  "  There  is  a  strange  and 
happy  feeling  of  'there'  being  here!" 

Robert  said:  "That  somehow  hits  it.  I  had 
the  most  vivid  dream  of  long,  sunny  travel,  with 
you  and  Marget  and  Richard  and  Stuart  Black! 
It  wasn't  like  a  dream.  I  feel  as  if  I  were  just 
off  the  ship — had  all  the  memories  and  a  most 
tremendous  refreshment!  I  could  take  down 
any  wall  this  morning!" 

"Why  do  you  put  it  that  way?" 

"I  don't  know.  We  have  so  walled  ourselves 
in  from  wide  doing — are  so  afraid  of  our  own 
landscape!"  He  stood  by  the  window.  "I 
think  I'll  ask  you  a  question  that  never,  never 
would  occur  to  Mr.  Gradgrind  to  ask!  Do  you 
remember  it,  too?  For  instance,  Athens  and 
some  dim,  northern  forest — and  a  lot  of  islands 
with  palms?  Do  you  remember  music?" 

"Oh,  it  was  all  music — and  I  think  that  I'll 
play  it  all  my  life!" 

Dressed,  they  went  down  to  the  others,  Zinia's 
bell  ringing  for  coffee,  omelet,  honey,  and 
cakes.  Linden  and  Drew  had  eaten  and  gone 
to  meet  Roger  Carter  and  William  where  the 
winter  wood  was  being  cut.  Marget  sat  behind 
the  coffee  urn.  "Good  morning,  Robert  and 
Frances!"  Her  face  of  a  subtle,  moving  beauty, 

more  of  look  than  of  feature,  did  not  turn  upon 

142 


SWEET  ROCKET 

them  with  a  "Do  you  remember?"  It  seemed 
to  assume  that  they  remembered.  Frances 
thought,  "Certainly  she  remembers,  and  as 
much  more  strongly  than  I  as  I  remember  more 
strongly  than  Robert!"  It  was  of  a  piece  with 
all  that  they  had  talked  of.  "At  last,  with  all 
of  us,  talk  passes  to  action."  Frances  Dane 
drank  her  coffee.  All  of  them  in  the  room  seemed 
bound  in  a  ribbon,  Linden  and  Drew  also,  wher- 
ever they  might  be  in  the  forest,  and  Stuart 
Black  in  that  small,  dark  room  in  New  York, 
and  how  many  others !  She  did  not  name  them, 
but  she  knew  they  were  many,  in  fact  all.  In 
a  flash  she  saw  how,  to  Marget  and  Richard, 
might  appear  not  many  selves  and  binding  rib- 
bon, but  One  Self.  To  realize  this  was  to  realize 
that  for  her,  also,  there  was  but  One  Self. 


XVII 

'"pHREE  days  after  this  Curtin  and  Anna 
1  Darcy,  who  often  walked  together,  having 
gone  to  the  pass  of  hemlock,  cliff  and  tumbling 
water,  turned  in  the  broken  sunlight  and  shadow 
back  to  Sweet  Rocket.  The  maples  of  the  upper 
slopes  had  cast  almost  all  their  leaves,  but  the 
oaks  stood  yet  in  carmine.  Yesterday  had  fallen 
light  rain.  Earth  lay  moist,  and  soil  and  leaf 
and  fern  and  moss  sent  out  a  haunting  odor. 
The  sun  stood  in  Scorpio.  The  drama  of  the 
year  was  on  the  homeward  road.  It  saw  ahead 
1;he  Archer  and  the  Goat  and  the  Water  Bearer, 
the  Fishes  of  the  great  deep,  and  the  Ram  that, 
springing  forth,  should  take  once  more  the  road, 
the  old  road,  the  new  road,  the  old-and-new 
road! 

Now  Curtin  and  Anna  Darcy  spoke,  and  now 
they  were  silent.  It  was  a  blessed  feature  of  this 
valley  that  none  need  be  talkative  in  order  to 
convey,  "I  am  at  home  with  you." 

Her  visit  was  approaching  its  end.  That  was 
what  people  would  say.  "Physical  presence  and 
metaphysical  presence!"  said  Curtin,  answering 
her  thought.  "Physical  and  above-physical — 

144 


SWEET  ROCKET 

and  the  generations  to  come  will  find  the  in- 
clusive word." 

"Oh,  I  shall  be  here  still — or  'here'  will  be 
with  me  in  the  city — or  it  will  be  both.  At  any 
rate,  no  desolate  parting!" 

They  passed  from  under  hemlock  and  gray 
rock  to  beech  trees  and  a  dappled  path.  The 
small  river  calmed  itself  and  began  to  flow 
through  cultivated  land.  Gentian  and  farewell- 
summer  made  a  purple  fringe  for  the  way. 

"In  old  romances  one  walked  into  an  inn  or 
house  by  the  road — always  saying,  '  It  is  by  the 
road  that  goes  on  as  it  went  before,  and  I  pres- 
ently again  with  it ! '  But  never  again  as  it  was 
before,  and  never  again  I  as  before!  For  just 
there  befalls  the  adventure  that  sets  one  climb- 
ing to  a  new  road." 

Sweet  Rocket  vale  opened  before  them.  Each 
time  they  looked  it  grew  fairer,  and  that,  they 
had  begun  to  see,  was  because  it  was  not  sepa- 
rated from  anything. 

Said  Anna  Darcy,  presently:  "Do  you  know 
Morris's  Earthly  Paradise?  Do  you  remember 
the  Story  of  Rhodope?  I  used  to  know  almost 
all  of  it  by  heart.  When  Rhodope  is  born  the 
countryman,  her  father,  dreams,  and  he  seems 
to  himself  to  be  standing  with  the  mother, 
watching 

"...  a  little  blossom  fair  to  see." 

Then:— 

us 


SWEET  ROCKET 

"The  day  seemed  changed  to  cloudiness  and  rain, 
And  the  sweet  flower,  whereof  they  were  so  fain, 
Was  grown  a  goodly  sapling,  and  they  gazed 

Wondering  thereat,  but  loved  it  nothing  less. 
But  as  they  looked,  a  bright  flame  round  it  blazed, 
And  hid  it  for  a  space,  and  weariness 
The  souls  of  both  the  good  folk  did  oppress, 
And  on  the  earth  they  lay  down  side  by  side, 
And  unto  them  it  was  as  they  had  died. 

"Yet  did  they  know  that  o'er  them  hung  the  tree 

Grown  mighty,  thick-leaved,  on  each  bough  did  hang 
Crown,  sword  or  ship,  or  temple  fair  to  see; 
And  therewithal  a  great  wind  through  it  sang, 
And  trumpet  blast  there  was;  and  armor  rang 
Amid  that  leafy  world,  and  now  and  then 
Strange  songs  were  sung  in  tongues  of  outland  men. 

"It  is  something  like  that  that  I  feel  for 
any  place — and  perhaps  now  it  will  be  so  for 
this  and  every  place!  It  was  such  a  blossom 
and  now  it  is  such  a  tree.  All  hangs  therein, 
peoples  and  nations,  things  past  and  things  to 
come!  When  I  go  away  I  shall  find  it  so  in  any 
place." 

"That  is  what  you  will  do — and  I  also. 
Everywhere  that  Tree,  that  Man,  that  God!" 

The  vale  widened  at  the  overseer's  house. 
The  sycamore  by  the  river  stretched  in  the  sun 
its  great  arms  of  white  and  brown,  and  these 
and  the  blue  vault  made  a  pattern.  A  dozen 
turkeys  crossed  the  path  in  a  stately,  slow- 
stepping  procession.  Mary  Carter  was  singing 
in  the  house,  and  little  Roger  singing  after  her. 

As  they  approached  the  tree  and  the  bench 

146 


SWEET  ROCKET 

around  it  other  voices  reached  them;  then  one 
voice  reading  aloud.  They  saw  the  two  Danes 
seated  there — Frances,  reading  a  letter.  "So 
I  did  travel  with  you  and  Mr.  Dane.  It  was  so 
wonderful — it  is  all  around  me  now!  I  don't 
clearly  remember  little,  sharp  bits  of  it,  but  I 
remember  the  whole.  It  has  shown  me  a  lot 
of  things.  I  don't  any  longer  mind  living.  It's 
funny,  but  father,  too — " 

Frances  looked  up  as  Curtin  and  Anna 
stepped  under  the  tree.  Bright  tears  stood  in 
her  eyes.  She  shook  them  away  and  smiled  at 
the  two.  "It's  a  letter  from  the  crippled  boy 
I  told  you  about — " 

The  four  walked  back  to  Sweet  Rocket  House. 
"Robert  and  I  have  but  a  week  longer.  But 
this  place  tempers  the  wind  of  the  whole  year. 
It  drops  honey  into  winter  days." 

Curtin  asked  Robert  Dane,  ' '  Forth  from  here 
you  go  on  with  the  work  you  are  doing?  " 

"Of  course.  That  is  a  department  of  this. 
But  I  wish  to  work  without  bitterness  or 
violence." 

The  day  shone  about  them.  Rain  of  the  night 
had  brought  into  late  autumn  a  sense  of  spring. 
Spring  and  autumn  seemed  to  touch  across 
shortened  winter.  The  air  held  a  divine,  sweet 
freshness.  They  were  aware  of  new  life,  and  all 
objects  of  perception  tossed  back  vigor  and  luster. 

"The  world  renews — the  world  renews!"  sang 
the  river. 

H7 


SWEET  ROCKET 

A  little  later  Robert  and  Frances  Dane  at 
their  window  saw,  coming  up  from  the  river,  a 
somewhat  worn  automobile.  Stopping  before 
the  porch  the  driver  and  owner  descended  and 
mounted  the  steps.  "There's  an  old  type!" 
said  Robert.  "Tall  and  thin,  black  clothes  and 
soft  hat,  low  collar  and  string  tie,  white  hair, 
mustache  and  imperial — look,  Frances,  it's  a 
picture!  Once  it  was  the  horse,  and  he  swung 
himself  down — then  the  carriage,  and  at  the 
door  he  helped  out  the  ladies.  Now  it's  the  car. 
To-morrow  he  will  descend  from  the  airship — 
just  like  that!" 

She  looked  over  his  shoulder.  "  It's  old  Major 
Hereward  from  Oakwood.  He  was  here  four 
years  ago,  that  time  I  came  alone.  He's  all  the 
past !  But  that  car's  symbolic,  too.  He's  all  the 
past  beginning  to  say,  'For  all  my  fighting  I 
begin  to  find  myself,  with  all  I  care  for,  here  in 
the  present — perhaps  also  in  the  future ! '  He's 
beginning  to  think  that  it  may  be  so  with  the 
airship.  There  with  all  that  he  really,  really 
cares  for!  'I  always  said  that  they  couldn't  get 
along  without  me,  and  now  I  begin  to  see  that 
neither  can  I  get  along  without  them!" 

Major  Hereward  appeared  at  the  dinner  table. 
It  seemed  that  he,  too,  was  a  cousin  of  Linden's, 
on  the  other  side  from  the  Danes.  His  place 
was  Oakwood,  twenty  miles  away.  Old  Major 
Linden  and  he  had  been  boyhood  friends.  He 
breathed  knowledge  of  Sweet  Rocket  in  ancient 

148 


SWEET  ROCKET 

days.  His  manner  to  Marget  was  delightful, 
though  perhaps  he  still  held  in  comparison,  in 
a  "this — that,"  Sweet  Rocket  House  and  the 
overseer's  house.  His  manner  to  all  was  delight- 
ful— like  old  wine. 

Robert  Dane  pondered  that,  and  also  Frances's 
words  of  the  morning.  Like  others,  he  could 
speak  as  though  the  past,  the  present,  and  the 
future  were  islands  with  nothingness  between. 
But  truly  he  knew  it  was  not  so,  and  he  assumed 
that  much  self-knowledge  in  those  to  whom  he 
spoke.  Now  he  had  it,  in  a  flash  of  vision,  how 
the  old  wine  and  wheat,  how  the  old  strength 
of  man  and  woman,  did  go  on.  All  within  the 
whole  flashed  and  changed.  But  the  whole  held 
all.  The  tangential  itself  only  went  so  far,  then 
returned,  and  was  met  and  welcomed.  The 
prodigal  son.  He  saw  that  contrary  winds  were 
not  so  contrary  after  all.  "In  the  whole,  and  in 
the  whole  only,  I  am  not  contrary  to  him  nor 
he  to  me.  In  the  end  one  sail  and  one  wind — 
and  the  sail  due  to  arrive  and  the  wind  favorable." 

That  afternoon  Major  Hereward  walked  over 
the  place;  with  him,  Linden  and  Curtin.  "I 
came  to  talk  to  you  about  something,  Richard. 
But  we'll  leave  it  till  night.  I  can  always  pull 
things  together  better  then — after  the  day. 
Here's  the  oak  Phil  Linden  and  I  planted  the 
day  we  heard  of  First  Manassas!  He  was 
eighteen  and  I  was  sixteen.  The  next  year  we 
both  went  in." 

149 


SWEET  ROCKET 

They  stood  beneath  the  tree.  Said  Curtinr 
"Much  water  has  gone  over  the  wheel  since 
then!" 

Major  Hereward  nodded.  "Much!  But  Phil 
Linden  and  I  seem  to  stand  here  together.  Not 
just  of  the  mind  we  were,  but  together!  And 
many  a  foe  grew  to  be  a  friend.'1 

The  bright  day  declined.  The  sun  set  in  a 
coral  sea,  a  crescent  moon  appeared,  earth  grew 
an  amethyst,  the  stars  came  out.  Brush  was 
being  burned  and  wood  smoke  clung  in  the  air, 
and  there  was  the  multitudinous  chirping,  chirp- 
ing in  grass  and  bush  of  late  autumn.  It  was 
almost  November,  and  they  built  larger  fires. 
The  old  parlor  gleamed. 

"It's  a  dear  room,  a  dear,  dear  room!"  said 
Major  Hereward.  "I  don't  believe  any  here 
can  love  these  portraits  as  I  do.  Richard  may 
look  at  them  often,  but — "  He  broke  off.  "I 
forgot  that  he  is  blind!  I'm  always  forgetting 
it !  Well,  he  may  see  the  reality  of  them. ' ' 

Richard  entered,  and  a  moment  later  Mar- 
get.  "It's  a  night  of  the  gods!  How  the  fire 
leaps!" 

They  sat  around  it,  Anna  Darcy  and  Curtin 
and  Drew  and  the  two  Danes  and  Major  Here- 
ward, Linden  and  Marget.  Anna  Darcy  was 
saying:  "  I  went  down  to  Mirny's  before  supper. 
The  preacher  is  there  for  the  night — Brother 
Robinson." 

Linden  answered  her.  "Yes.  He  will  be  here 
150 


SWEET  ROCKET 

presently.  He  always  comes  to  us  for  an  hour 
or  so.  He's  a  fine  fellow." 

Rising,  he  fetched  Frances's  violin.  "What 
deep  and  dear  pleasure  you  give,  Frances!" 

She  played  old  music  and  new,  into  which  the 
old  glided,  until  there  seemed  neither  old  nor 
new,  but  a  content  very  vast  and  rich.  The 
wing  of  the  music  lifted  them;  music  and  flame 
blended.  They  sat  in  reverie,  and  the  wealth 
of  the  world  flowed,  circularly  flowed. 

Without,  in  the  night,  a  lantern  passed  the 
windows.  "There  is  Brother  Robinson,"  said 
Marget.  Richard  went  out — they  heard  his 
voice  in  the  hall — then  he  returned  with  the 
negro  preacher  and  Zinia.  He  said,  "Mr.  Rob- 
inson— friends,  all  of  us!"  The  circle  widened, 
the  preacher  sat  down  between  Linden  and 
Robert  Dane,  and  Zinia  sat  between  Marget 
and  Frances.  "Play  a  little  longer,  Frances!" 

The  music  blended  with  the  flame,  the  wealth 
of  the  world  flowed,  flowed,  circularly  flowed. 
The  Rev.  William  Robinson  sat,  a  gaunt,  dark 
figure,  in  long-preserved  broadcloth,  with  a 
rugged,  deep  brown  face.  When  he  spoke  his 
voice  had  unction — like  the  voices  of  most  of 
his  people — unction,  but  not  too  much  of  it.  By 
sheer  indomitableness  he  had  gained  a  fair  edu- 
cation, and  he  was  a  good  man  and  a  wise  one. 
In  her  blue  dress  Zinia  sat  beside  Marget  Land. 
She  kept  silence,  but  her  poise  was  like  her  poise 
in  the  dining  room  and  pantry,  or  on  the  porch 


SWEET  ROCKET 

when  Miss  Darcy  had  taken  her  breakfasts  there. 
The  latter  always  thought  of  her  standing  beside 
the  pillar,  or  in  the  clean,  airy  pantry,  by  the 
jar  of  flowers  and  the  open  Pilgrim's  Progress, 
always  heard  her  rich  voice,  saying,  "I  like  that 
girl  Mercy!" 

It  seemed  that  Robert  Dane  had  met  Brother 
Robinson  before  this  at  Sweet  Rocket.  When 
the  violin  was  put  by  the  two  talked  together  a 
little,  as  folk  might  talk  who  liked  each  other. 
Curtin,  from  his  corner,  watched  with  interest 
Sweet  Rocket  in  Virginia.  A  voice  from  some- 
where went  through  his  head:  Where  there  is 
neither  Greek  nor  Jew,  circumcision  nor  uncircum- 
cision,  Barbarian,  Scythian,  bond  nor  free,  but 
Christ  is  all  and  in  all.  He  looked  at  Major 
Hereward,  and  the  old  man,  who  had  stiffened 
at  the  "Mr.  Robinson"  and  the  seating  in  the 
circle  about  the  fire,  seemed  now  to  rest  at  ease, 
in  a  brown  study,  as  one  who  regards  the 
expanse  of  things. 

Miss  Darcy  spoke.  "At  Mirny's  this  after- 
noon you  had  begun  to  tell  me  of  the  building 
of  your  church  and  schoolhouse  down  the  river. 
Then  they  called  me  and  I  had  to  go — " 

"Tell  them  now,  brother,"  said  Linden. 

Brother  Robinson  told,  and  what  he  told  had 
humor  and  pathos  and  heroism.  There  passed, 
as  upon  a  screen,  the  littles  gathered  that  were 
much  to  spare,  quaint  efforts  at  money  raising, 
labor  at  twilight  and  dawn  given  by  laboring 

152 


SWEET  ROCKET 

men,  the  women's  extra  work  and  their  festivals. 
Brother  Robinson  was  a  born  raconteur.  Into 
the  sheaf  of  his  homely  narrative  fell  vast 
swaths  of  human  effort  and  aspiration.  "And 
Brother  Linden  helped  us,  and  old  Mr.  Morrow- 
combe  gave  us  five  dollars." 

A  voice  came  from  the  corner  of  the  hearth, 
from  Major  Hereward:  "I'd  like  to  help  you, 
too,  Brother  Robinson!  Put  me  down  for  ten 
dollars." 

They  left  the  material  building  of  the  school- 
house  and  the  church.  Said  Brother  Robinson: 
"  I've  got  something  else  I  want  to  tell  you.  I've 
had  an  Experience,  and  it's  taken  the  heart  out 
of  my  bosom  and  crumbled  it  between  its  fingers 
and  put  in  a  new  one !  I  came  to  Sweet  Rocket 
to  tell  it  to  you,  Mr.  Linden.  But  I  don't  see 
anyone  here  that  I'd  be  afraid  to  tell  it  to." 

"There isn't  any  such,"  said  Linden.  "Tell  it !" 


XVIII 

"  T  WAS  going  to  preach,"  said  Brother  Rob- 
I  inson,  "at  Piny  Hill  Church,  that's  twelve 
miles  from  Old  Lock,  where  I  live.  I  started  out 
Saturday  afternoon  to  walk,  counting  on  a  lift 
or  two  on  the  road,  and  I  got  them.  I  was  going 
to  sleep  at  Will  Jones's,  who  works  at  the  mill 
on  Piny  Creek.  The  first  lift  I  got  was  from  a 
wagon  full  of  hay  going  to  Cherry  Farm.  That 
was  two  miles.  Then  I  walked  three  miles. 
Then  a  Ford  came  along  and  said, '  Hey,  Brother 
Robinson,  are  you  going  as  far  as  Llewellyn?' 
I  said  that  I  was,  and  farther,  and  the  Ford 
took  me  to  Llewellyn.  That  didn't  leave  but 
four  miles  to  do,  and  that  was  nothing.  So  I 
was  a-walking,  and  the  leaves  hung  red  and 
yellow,  and  the  evening  was  powerful  sweet! 
I  went  through  the  woods  by  the  Thessaly 
place.  I  was  thinking  as  I  was  walking.  And 
then,  just  like  that,  Mr.  Linden,  thinking  with 
words  stopped!  My  old  body  stopped,  too.  I 
just  lowered  it  under  a  cedar  tree  and  left  it 
there. 

"But  I  myself  went  higher  and  wider.    I  was 
everywhere  and  all  over!    I  was  in  and  through 

154 


SWEET  ROCKET 

everything!  They  were  just  shapes  in  me.  It 
was  like  being  air,  or  like  that  inside  air  you  told 
me  about,  called  ether.  You  told  me  about  that, 
but  when  you  told  it  I  hadn't  experienced,  and 
so  it  was  just  words.  Now  I  have  experienced. 
Everything  was  right  here  and  now,  or  there 
and  then,  it  didn't  matter  a  mite  which! 

"The  first  thing  I  felt  was  just  infinite  clean- 
ness and  coolness.  It  was  me  and  it  was  not 
me.  If  it  was  me  it  was  something  vast  in  me 
that  had  got  the  upper  hand.  There  was  a  me, 
a  self,  like  a  tired,  dirty  child.  To  that  me  the 
other  was  God.  But  God  turning  out  to  be  me, 
too.  I  had  preached  about  God  for  thirty  years, 
but  I  never  really  tasted  or  touched  God  till 
that  day.  It  was  cool  and  whole  and  pure,  and 
bigger  than  the  sky.  And  it  forgave  all  my  sins, 
or  it  saw  clean  through  them.  It  saw  a  long  way 
and  all  at  once.  .  .  .  The  tired  and  dirty  me  was 
everybody  else,  too.  It  was  me  and  it  was  every- 
body, and  we  were  healed  by  our  God,  and  that 
was  us,  too,  us,  and  more  than  we  had  ever 
dreamed  of  in  that  us !  It  healed  with  its  might, 
and  the  lower  part  understood  and  went  up.  .  .  . 
I  can't  give  you  a  description.  It  was  awe  and 
joy.  The  little  body  of  William  Robinson 
couldn't  have  held  it,  but  something  bigger  than 
that  held  it.  And  then,  just  as  light  changes  on 
the  mountains  here — when  you  are  on  top  of  Rock 
Mountain  maybe,  and  see  everything  below  you 
— and  it's  all  there,  but  it's  got  another  tone  and 


SWEET  ROCKET 

you  feel  it  in  a  different  way — just  so  that  cool 
awe  and  greatness  changed  a  little.  It  was  joy 
still,  but  now  it  was  friendly  and  natural.  It 
was  the  whole  earth  looking  like  a  garden,  and 
all  mine,  all  me,  and  in  that  me  was  all  I  had 
ever  thought  was  you  or  him  or  her,  and  all 
that  I  had  ever  said  was  it.  The  bird  and  the 
beast  were  there,  the  trees  and  the  grass  and  the 
air.  And  it  was  lovely;  it  was  just  love,  and 
beauty!"  He  brushed  his  hand  across  his  eyes. 
"I  can't  tell  you  about  that  beauty.  And  we 
weren't  dead;  all  was  living.  If  you'll  think  of 
the  very  best  moment  you  ever  had,  when  you 
were  deepest  friends  with  yourself  and  found 
that  it  took  in  everybody,  it  might  be  some- 
thing like  that  a  million  times  over.  It  was 
innocent  and  wise.  And  all  the  times  that  I'd 
ever  thought  I  was  happy  were  just  plain  misery 
beside  it !  I  couldn't  hold  it,  any  more  than  a 
young  robin  can  hold  the  flight  he  will  hold 
after  a  while.  I  reckon  we're  all  fledglings! 
Back  I  flopped  toward  William  Robinson.  Here 
was  old  Virginia,  and  the  woods  and  the  road 
and  the  hills  and  the  mountains,  and  Old  Lock, 
and  Piny  Hill  Church.  But  just  before  I  settled 
in  I  got  for  just  a  minute  this  very  country  and 
our  daily  life  in  the  light  and  the  glow  and  the 
music  and  the  wonder!  All  that  was  fair  kept 
in  and  strengthened,  and  all  that  was  unfair 
just  melted  out!  I  knew  then  that  though  we 
talk  about  it  we  haven't  begun  to  love  our 

156 


SWEET  ROCKET 

country.  It  went,  too,  into  the  world.  'For 
God  so  loved  the  world.'  .  .  .  Well,  that  vanished, 
too.  I  was  back.  I  was  just  the  colored  preacher, 
William  Robinson.  I  was  back,  but  I  could 
remember!  I've  touched  what  it's  like  to  be 
God." 

He  ceased  speaking,  and  sat  bent  toward  the 
fire.  A  little  of  that  luminousness  of  which  he 
had  told  seemed  to  show  through  his  flesh,  a 
dark  translucence.  He  said,  under  his  breath, 
"'Little  children,  love  one  another!"  and 
rested  silent,  in  communion  with  the  flame. 

"'For  all  we  are  members  one  of  another/ 
Feeling  that,"  said  Linden,  "is  to  feel  as  One. 
Then  the  One  no  longer  counts  as  separate  his 
members.  He  says  I  AM." 

Stillness  held  in  the  old  room.  The  fire  gave 
it  crimson  and  amber  life  and  warmth.  The 
canvases  on  the  walls,  the  pictured  men  and 
women,  seemed  self-luminous.  Major  Hereward 
spoke  abruptly:  "WTiere  are  the  dead?  Where 
are  my  brother  Dick,  my  son  Walter,  my  mother 
and  father?" 

"They  are  here.  Re-member  yourself  and 
you  shall  find  them." 

"Where  is  heaven?" 

"It  is  here,  the  moment  you  begin  to  perceive 
it." 

"You  mean  that  you  perceive  the  dead, 
Richard?" 

"Yes.     Do  not  you?" 
11  157 


SWEET  ROCKET 

The  old  man  stared.  He  drew  a  long  breath. 
"Never  before  did  I  think  that  I  did!" 

Robert  Dane  spoke.  "You  mean  that  as  the 
Great  Consciousness  expands  it  becomes  aware 
of  itself  there,  too?  That  that  realm  becomes 
open?" 

"Yes.  Discovery  there  is  within  the  grasp 
of  our  age.  It  is  not  so  far  away  as  many  might 
think!  As  Power  comes  through.  The  'dead' 
and  the  'living'  do  meet.  They  have  met  all 
the  time.  The  general  recognition  and  use  of 
the  fact  is  to  be  strengthened,  developed." 

"It  is  not  the  only  recognition  and  use  of 
Oneness  impending!" 

"By  no  means!  No.  In  every  field  there  is 
ripening  corn.  How  should  it  not  be  so?" 

Major  Hereward's  voice  came  in  again.  " '  The 
spiritual  sense  of  the  dead.'  I've  heard  that 
phrase.  I  didn't  know  what  it  meant.  Do  you 
mean  that  when  1  seem  to  myself  to  move  about 
in  company  with  Dick,  when  things  come  into 
my  mind  that  he  knew  about  or  that  we  did 
together,  when  I  seem,  as  I  go  on,  to  understand 
his  character  better  and  better,  and  to  see  life 
as  he  did,  when  he  seems  here  with  me  or  when 
we  are  just  happy  together  in  old  places — that 
it's  true?  And  Walter  and  my  mother  and 
father  and  Helen  and  others — oh,  scores  of 
others — they  enter  my  mind  and  heart  just  as 
though  they  came  in  at  a  door!  Do  you  mean 
that  when  I  think  of  them  suddenly  and  strongly, 

158 


SWEET  ROCKET 

feel  them  as  it  were,  that  they  are  doing  part  of 
it,  that  there  is  intercourse?  Good  Lord!  I 
thought  it  was  only  myself!" 

"I  mean  that,"  said  Linden.  "It  will  grow 
to  be  more  than  that.  A  higher,  fuller  thing 
than  that." 

The  old  man  rose.  Face  and  voice  showed 
emotion.  "I've  got  what  I  came  for.  God 
bless  you,  Richard,  and  God  bless  you,  too, 
Brother  Robinson !  Oh,  we've  been  little!  Mar- 
get,  I'll  say  good  night,  my  dear.  Out  of  my  life 
goes  fear  and  loneliness!" 

Brother  Robinson  likewise,  with  Zinia,  rose 
to  say  good  night.  "I'll  see  you  in  the  morn- 
ing," said  Richard.  "I  want  to  talk  to  you 
about  the  school." 

That  night  Curtin,  also,  increased  his  sense 
of  life,  life  that  included  those  that  were  said  to 
be  dead.  There  had  been  no  repetition  of  the 
hour  when,  lying  in  the  room  where  now  slept 
Robert  and  Frances  Dane,  he  had  touched  with 
an  inward  sense  that  brother  who  had  fallen 
from  the  aeroplane,  who  had  been  jostled  out 
of  the  body,  but  who  lived!  Surely  the  life  was 
not  quite  that  of  the  old  life,  though  surely 
built  from  that;  certainly  Curtin  might  not 
fully  understand  until  he,  too,  slipped  the  body. 
Yet  there  was  life  and  living.  He  had  not  ex- 
perienced that  hour  again,  and  he  had  tried 
doubting  if  he  had  ever  experienced  it.  But 
doubt  did  not  prove  to  be  a  going  proposition. 

159 


SWEET  ROCKET 

Memory  smiled  it  down.  Yet  the  experience 
had  not  been  repeated,  or  rather  what  had  come 
had  diffused  itself  in  the  wide  awakening  of  these 
Sweet  Rocket  weeks.  Nor  did  its  distinctive 
klang  return  to-night.  There  was  not  the  same 
white  keenness.  That  which  beamed  about  him 
now  was  more  like  that  which  Marget  had 
spoken  of  on  the  summerhouse  steps.  Not  one 
now,  but  many  of  his  dead;  not  the  human 
only,  but  the  flower  and  the  tree,  the  bird  and 
the  beast,  the  scene,  the  water,  land  and  sky. 
"The  old  and  sweet  is  here,  but  chosen,  re- 
deemed, gathered  up,  understood,  become  im- 
mortal! And  we  have  had  it  all  the  time.  It 
has  been  here  all  the  time!  Just  as  we  had 
electricity  and  did  not  know  it." 

He  fell  asleep,  rocked  by  the  waves  of  a  sunny 
sea  of  love  and  home  and  kindred. 


XIX 

MAJOR  LINDEN  spent  two  days  at  Sweet 
Rocket,  chiefly  sitting  upon  the  porch  in 
the  sunshine  or  walking  about  the  place,  some- 
times in  company,  sometimes  alone,  but  never, 
Curtin  noticed,  with  an  old  man's  look  of  lone- 
liness, though  he  thought  that  at  times  before 
this  Major  Hereward  would  have  shown  that 
loneliness.  But  now  there  was  vigor  in  him, 
vigor  and  interest  and  life.  "If  they  are  here, 
living  for  me  as  I  for  them,  talking  to  me  and 
I  talking  to  them — it  is  the  strangest  thing  what 
life  does  when  it  comes!"  His  laughter  had  a 
clear  and  happy  ring.  "I  had  thought  of  all 
kinds  of  solutions!  And  here  it  is,  the  needle 
threaded,  while  I  was  still  looking  for  it  in  the 
haystack!"  He  stood  beneath  the  oak  he  had 
planted  almost  sixty  years  ago.  "Phil  is  here. 
Trying,  wasn't  it,  Phil,  when  I  said,  'Oh, 
fancy!'  or,  'It's  just  Wilmot  Hereward  talking 
to  himself!'" 

When  he  met  Linden  on  the  porch  he  said: 
"Richard,  if  it's  so  with  those  folk  whom  we  so 
promptly  insisted  hadn't  any  reality  in  them, 
isn't  it  so  all  over?  When  I'm  pondering  Bob 

161 


SWEET  ROCKET 

who's  in  England,  or  when  I'm  thinking  of  noth- 
ing in  particular  and  in  he  walks  into  mind  and 
affection — " 

"Yes.  It  is  part  of  the  same  truth.  It  ah 
rests  on  the  oneness  of  Being.  That  is  why  you 
must  in  some  wise  grasp  that  Oneness  first.  A 
time  will  come  where  there  will  be  no  saying 
'My  brother  Dick,'  or  'Bob  in  England,'  be- 
cause they  and  Wilmot  Hereward  and  all  others 
will  have  advanced  beyond  all  such  divisions. 
But  on  the  road  there  you  will  meet  many  a 
fair  power!" 

The  old  man  went  the  next  morning  back  to 
Oakwood  in  his  battered  car.  He  went  alone 
and  not  alone,  with  a  peaceful  face. 

In  the  afternoon  Anna  and  Curtin,  Drew  and 
the  two  Danes,  walked  down  the  river,  in  among 
the  partly  forested,  partly  grassy  hills  that  here 
closed  the  valley.  Indian  summer  had  now 
stolen  over  the  land.  The  air  hung  smoky 
amethyst,  and  still  as  still!  No  motion  was  in 
the  fallen  leaves,  the  birds  sailed  stilly  by,  the 
stubble  fields  dreamed,  the  river  sang  low. 
Wood  smoke  clung  in  the  nostril.  Turning, 
coming  homeward,  the  brick  house  and  yellowed 
pillars  stood  pictured.  They  passed  through 
the  orchard  and  by  a  small  cider  mill.  Zinia, 
on  the  back  porch,  poured  for  each  out  of  an 
amber  pitcher  an  amber  glassful.  "Was- 
hael!"  said  Drew,  and  lifted  the  glass.  Curtin 
caught  from  memory  the  answering  phrase, 

162 


SWEET  ROCKET 

"Drink-hael!"  A  shaft  of  wonder,  like  a  gleam 
of  light,  touched  them  all  with  strange  fingers. 
Something  trembled  in  the  air.  If  it  said  aught 
it  said,  ' '  So  Earth  begins  to  live  Poetry ! ' '  Drew 
set  down  the  cup  with  a  sharp,  clear  sound. 
"Life,  everlasting  life!"  he  said.  "I  see  it  now! 
We  have  always  lived!" 

Again  evening  in  the  old  parlor,  the  fire  and 
music,  Tarn  lying  beside  Linden,  Marget  seated 
by  Anna  Darcy.  Robert  Dane  spoke.  "This 
finding  ourselves  in  all  and  all  in  us,  this  lifting 
the  all  into  a  mighty  I,  this  is  it  behind  the 
slowly  accelerating  movements  of  the  ages,  be- 
hind all  efforts  for  freedom,  for  knowledge,  for 
interchange  and  intercourse,  swifter  and  swifter, 
subtler  and  subtler  intercourse — this  is  it?" 

"Yes.    Behind  a  hundred  shapes  of  dawn." 

"Effort  does  not  cease? " 

"No.  But  effort,  too,  is  finer  and  far  more 
powerful.  You  act  now  from  within  upon  the 
within." 

"To  touch  through  and  through  that  we  are 
one!  Hercules's  labor  isn't  in  it!" 

"Yet  it  is  done  and  to  be  done.  Find  me  if 
you  can  an  individual  to-day  who  has  not  some 
dim  perception  of  it,  or  who  is  not  in  some  wise 
acting  toward  it !  Even  the  most  unpromising 
— look  and  you  will  see!  It  is  so  tremendous, 
that  finding,  it  runs  through  every  fiber.  We 
can  cut  out  no  pattern,  but  we  move  from 
light  to  light,  from  love  to  love!" 

163 


SWEET  ROCKET 

In  her  room  that  night,  when  she  had  put  out 
the  lamp,  Anna  Darcy,  lying  in  bed,  watched 
the  firelight  on  wall  and  ceiling.  A  cricket 
chirped,  she  could  hear  the  river.  Her  visit  to 
Sweet  Rocket  was  ending.  "Only  it  will  never 
end;  it  is  immortal  within  me! " 

She  saw  how  all  life  interlocked,  how  shock 
to  one  was  taken  up  by  the  whole,  how  joy  to 
one  thrilled  through  all.  "What  we  call  space 
is  Being;  what  we  call  time  is  our  own  Story, 
our  colored,  toned  lastingness!  Give  and  take, 
forever  and  forever,  forever  and  forever!  Find 
lovely  things  to  give,  and  from  the  other  side  of 
us  take  lovely  things,  lovelier  and  lovelier! 
Know  thyself — know  thyself — know  Thyself. 
'  If  ye  do  it  unto  one,  the  least  of  these,  ye  do  it 
unto  Me.'  'And  all  we  made  One.' " 

The  walls  of  the  room  disappeared.  Anna 
Darcy,  a  slight,  worn,  teaching  woman,  sixty 
years  old,  vanished  or  altered.  There  was  wide 
life,  land  and  sea,  deep  life  that  did  not  talk  in 
births  and  deaths,  lofty  life  that  said,  "Better 
than  this  wave  even,  shall  you  know!" 

It  was  Strength,  it  was  Peace,  it  was  Wisdom 
and  Balm. 

Across  the  hall  Robert  Dane  lay  thinking. 
In  his  youth  he  had  the  passion  of  a  Shelley  for 
a  regenerate  world.  Older,  the  vision  dulled, 
and  yet  he  worked  on  doggedly,  heroically,  one 
with  thousands  of  others  breaking  and  making 
a  road  for  the  feet  of  Coming  Man.  He  worked 

164 


SWEET  ROCKET 

heroically,  never  sparing  himself,  a  devoted  life. 
Sometimes  the  gleam  shone  fair  before  him, 
oftener  mists  made  it  faint,  sometimes  he  lost 
it.  Then  it  shone  again.  He  worked  on.  To- 
night, lying  here  at  Sweet  Rocket,  his  youth 
came  back,  but  higher,  fuller,  wiser!  He  saw 
what  might  be  done,  what  was  doing.  He  saw 
the  interrelated  roads  and  the  travelers  upon 
them,  the  hosts  of  travelers.  A  vision  came  to 
him  in  the  night.  His  body  lay  very  still,  but 
he  himself  saw  clearly  a  great  thing. 

There  was  a  City  that  was  country  also,  and 
sea  and  land  and  sky,  that  was  a  world,  harmo- 
nious, great,  not  a  dead  thing,  not  unintellec- 
tual,  but  living,  living  with  a  vast  fervor  and 
beauty  and  interest  and  knowledge,  throwing 
out  even,  it  might  be,  silver  lines  toward  a 
v/orld  yet  more  light,  more  fervent,  more  living ! 
But  it  was  there,  all  that  he  could  now  image  of 
body  and  spirit,  mind  and  soul's  desire: 

He  saw  like  a  pale  film  another  city  that  was 
pale  and  sorrowful  to  this.  And  he  saw  that 
city,  as  it  were,  send  out  itself,  by  rivers  and 
seas  and  roads,  thousands  and  thousands  of 
paths,  upon  a  journey  to  the  other.  There 
was  hardly  a  point — truly  he  thought  there  was 
not  any  point — that  did  not  travel.  So  many 
living  beings,  so  many  ships  or  rafts,  caravans 
or  solitary  travelers  to  that  Desired  Haven! 
All  going,  some  ahead,  some  behind,  but  all 
going.  The  pale  and  sorrowful  city  was  mov- 

165 


SWEET  ROCKET 

ing  into  that  other,  and  brightening  as  it  moved. 
That  other  was  drawing  it,  steadily,  steadily! 
He  felt  it  like  a  loadstone;  he  felt  it  like  a  mother 
calling  home. 

The  vision  passed,  but  there  was  left  Assur- 
ance .  He  lay  still  in  the  starry  night .  The  mind 
kept  up  an  underhumming  with  words  like  "re- 
integration,"  "superconsciousness,"  bnt  the 
spirit  dealt  only  with  the  bliss  of  a  great  com- 
ing to  itself.  He  slept  at  last,  and  his  sleep  was 
dreamless  and  profoundly  renewing. 


XX 


IT  is  the  flowering  land,  it  is  the  music  land. 
You  go  to  it  through  every  moment  and  inci- 
dent and  encounter  of  the  day.    You  read,  and  it 
is  behind  the  words.    You  think,  and  it  smiles 
through.    It  is  the  Higher  Us  that  resolves  the 
discords  and  reaps  the  fields.    Experience  it  once, 
and  it  is  miracle  and  wonder;    experience  it 
twice,  and  you  say,  '  Columbus  was  not  the  only 
discoverer ! '    Experience  it  thrice,  and  you  work 
for  it  day  and  night!     You  yourself,  drawing 
yourself  out  of  the  old  man  and  the  old  house. 
Read  'The  Chambered  Nautilus.'" 
"It  is  religion — " 
"It  always  has  been  Religion." 
"And  the  gloom  and  storm  of  our  day?" 
"It  is  not  gloom,  it  is  not  storm.     It  is  the 
pains  of  growth.    Feel  the  epic  and  voyage  that 
it  is!  ...  Every  proper  and  general  noun  in  all 
dictionaries  now  and  to  come  is  my  name,  as  it 
is  yours.    Every  verb  is  my  doing,  as  it  is  yours. 
The  use  of  language,  use  and  dis-use,  is  mine  as 
it  is  yours — " 

They  were  walking  in  the  orchard  beneath 
the  apple  trees,  whose  leaves  were  slow  to  fall. 

167 


SWEET  ROCKET 

There  had  been,  this  morning,  a  heavy  frost. 
The  garden  flowers  were  going,  the  creeper 
over  Mirny's  house  had  shed  its  scarlet  leaves, 
but  held  its  dark-blue  berries.  The  heavens 
hung  a  blue  crystal.  The  air  had  the  cool  of 
mountain  water. 

It  was  the  day  when  Anna  Darcy  must  leave 
Sweet  Rocket.  After  dinner  Daniel  and  the 
phaeton  and  Marget  would  take  her  to  Alder 
to  the  north-going  train.  Now,  with  Marget, 
she  went  the  round  of  the  place,  saying  good-by. 
They  had  been  to  Mirny's,  and  had  talked  to 
Mancy  at  the  barn.  "Come  again!"  said 
Mancy .  ' '  But  you  ain't  really  going,  you  know ! 
Sweet  Rocket  will  hold  you,  and  you'll  hold 
Sweet  Rocket." 

They  came  by  the  kitchen.  Mirny  was 
singing: 

"Swing  low,  sweet  chariot, 
Coming  for  to  carry  me  home — " 

"You  gwine  back  inter  the  troubled  world?" 
said  Mirny.  "  They  say  hit's  awful !  But,  Lord ! 
there  ain't  any  bars  ter  trouble !  I ' ve  seen  a  lot . " 

They  walked  up  the  river  to  the  overseer's 
house,  where  they  were  made  welcome  by  Mary 
Carter  and  small  Roger,  and  by  old  Mr.  Mor- 
rowcombe,  who  was  staying  over  from  Sunday, 
which  was  yesterday.  He  said,  much  as  Mancy 
had  said:  "I'm  sorry  you  are  going!  But  thar! 

You  ain't  going  in  the  old,  harsh  ways." 

168 


SWEET  ROCKET 

Marget,  sitting  beside  him  on  the  step  of  the 
porch,  rested  her  arm  upon  his  knee.  Her 
brown,  slender  hand  touched  his  great  horny 
one.  "Grandfather  Morrowcombe !"  she  said. 
He  answered  her:  "I  see  you  as  a  nine-year-old, 
Marget,  and  I  see  you  as  a  woman  in  Sweet 
Rocket  Valley,  and  I  see  you  as  something  that 
stands  above  child  and  woman.  It  isn't  any 
more  big  than  it  is  subtle-fine.  It's  puzzling  to 
find  words.  But  when  I  look  at  you  and  think 
of  you  I  seem  to  hear  the  air  stirring  over  the 
whole  world.  All  kinds  of  things  that  I  had 
forgotten,  and  all  kinds  of  things  that  I  have 
read " 

She  and  Anna  sat  for  five  minutes  under  the 
sycamore  by  the  water.  Returning  then  to 
Sweet  Rocket,  they  walked  in  the  garden  that 
was  making  ready  for  winter.  As  it  happened, 
Mrs.  Cliff  came  this  day  down  mountain  to 
borrow  some  sugar.  She  sat  on  the  steps  of  the 
back  porch,  in  the  violet  light  of  November. 
'"Howdy!"  she  said  to  Miss  Darcy.  "I'm  glad 
you  stayed  on.  When  I  come  here  I  want  to 
stay  on,  too.  But  thar!  I  take  the  memory  of 
it  up  to  my  home.  You  wouldn't  think  how 
often  thar  I'm  here,  too!" 

To-day  she  had  a  braided  rug  to  sell,  and 
Marget  bought  it.  Mrs.  Cliff's  long,  wrinkled 
hand  put  the  money  in  her  pocket.  "Times 
isn't  betterin'  any,  Miss  Marget." 

Marget  laughed.  "Oh,  the  poor  old  times!" 
169 


SWEET  ROCKET 

It  startled  Anna  Darcy,  too,  so  joyous  and 
care-free  and  lilting  was  the  voice.  Mrs.  Cliff 
stared  at  her.  The  mountain  woman's  face  was 
not  what  one  would  call  a  cheerful  one.  Who- 
ever was  behind  it  was  caught  in  a  network  of 
fine,  anxious  lines.  Now  these  held  for  a  per- 
ceptible moment,  then  faded  as  though  the 
twine  were  mist.  That  one  immortally  youth- 
ful and  insouciant  looked  forth  as  it  had  looked 
from  Marget.  Sun  came  out  over  meadow, 
plain,  and  hill,  and  Mrs.  Cliff  laughed.  "I 
reckon  you're  right,  Miss  Marget!  You  gen- 
erally are.  I  reckon  we've  seen  so  much  that 
we  can  afford  to  take  it  tranquil — which  ain't 
to  say  that  we're  either  do-less  or  keerless!" 

She  spoke  to  Anna.  "You  remember  my 
tellin'  you  about  that  feeling  I  had?  I  'ain't 
had  it  full  again.  But  I've  caught  glimpses  of 
it,  maybe  in  the  day,  maybe  in  the  night.  I 
know  the  minute  when  anything  like  it  comes 
my  way.  When  you've  had  a  feeling  like  that 
all  your  life's  set  to  feeling  it  again." 

But  Marget  had  taken  it  joyously. 

When  Mrs.  Cliff  had  said  good-by  and  gone 
mountainward  the  two,  crossing  the  pleasant 
porch,  entered  the  house.  They  walked  from 
room  to  room,  Anna's  consciousness  gathering 
each.  "Any  time  you  may  feel  me  here!" 

"We  shall  feel  you  here  all  the  time." 

They  stood  in  the  study,  against  the  broad 
mantelshelf.  "At  first,  when  I  thought  of  this 

170 


SWEET  ROCKET 

room,  I  thought,  'Richard  Linden's  study.' 
But  it  is  of  and  for  and  to  both  of  you." 

"Ah  yes!    To  both." 

She  seemed  to  give  forth  light.  Anna  thought, 
"Is  it  only  the  sun  shining  on  her?" 

Later,  in  her  own  room,  all  packing  done, 
dressed  for  her  journey,  Anna  went  and  sat 
beside  the  window  as  she  had  sat  the  first  eve- 
ning at  Sweet  Rocket.  She  still  heard  Mirny 
singing,  she  still  saw  the  garden,  though  it  was 
dreaming  now  of  spring.  "I  have  been  here 
only  a  month,  but  in  it  I  have  had  years  and 
years." 

The  quiet  room  filled  with  a  sunny  stillness, 
an  eternal  assurance.  Again,  as  on  that  first 
evening,  the  mountains  were  here  and  the  wind 
of  the  sea  was  here.  Love  and  wisdom  and 
power  were  here. 

The  boy  Jim  brought  Daniel  and  the  phaeton 
to  the  door  below.  Marget  came  for  her,  and 
they  went  down,  and  through  the  hall  to  the 
porch,  to  find  there  Linden  and  Curtin  and 
Robert  and  Frances  and  Drew,  and  Zinia  and 
Mirny,  and  Mancy  and  Tarn. 

Across  the  river,  at  the  edge  of  the  wood, 
Marget  checked  Daniel  so  that  Anna  might  look 
back  and  see  the  house  again,  the  house  and  the 
trees  and  the  hills,  and  the  holding  arms  of  the 
mountains.  "But  you  are  to  come  again,"  said 
Marget.  "Never  part,  and  come  again!" 

"Yes,  oh  yes!" 

171 


SWEET  ROCKET 

The  wheels  turned  and  went  on  upon  the 
Alder  road.  They  entered  the  forest,  old  forest, 
great  trees  that  sloughed  their  leaves  again  and 
again  and  again,  through  centuries  past  num- 
ber, sloughed  their  leaves,  sloughed  their  old 
bodies,  made  soil,  and  stood  upon  it  and  builded 
higher.  Behind  and  in  and  through  every  stem 
and  leaf  rose  the  subjective  forest,  and  behind 
and  in  and  through  the  whole  the  ideal,  the  spirit- 
ual forest,  the  divine  forest.  Around  and  on- 
ward went  the  wheels  on  the  leafy  road.  Anna 
sat  beside  Marget.  The  two  spoke  little,  having 
now  no  great  need  of  words.  The  light  came 
down  between  bare  branches.  Far  and  near 
branch  and  blue  air  made  a  marvel  of  lacework. 
Against  this  pines  and  hemlocks  stood  like  pyra- 
mids and  pillars.  Song  and  twitter  of  a  month 
ago  was  not  now.  "The  birds  go  south — the 
birds  go  south!"  said  Marget.  "But  there  are 
enough  left  for  winter  company.  There  is  a 
bluebird  on  yonder  bough ! " 

Round  went  the  wheels,  making  hardly  a 
sound.  The  forest  hung  still,  so  still.  For  one 
moment,  to  Anna  Darcy,  it  all  went  away.  It 
was  tnaya,  illusion,  the  forest,  Indian  summer, 
this  day  of  our  Lord,  the  phaeton  and  Daniel, 
Sweet  Rocket  and  Alder  and  New  York,  Marget 
Land  and  Anna  Darcy.  What  was  left  was 
fullness  of  Being.  Did  it  choose  to  analyze  itself 
it  might  be  into  Power,  Wisdom,  and  Bliss. 

The  revealing  flash  went  as  it  came,  ere  one 

172 


SWEET  ROCKET 

could  say,  It  lightens !  Maya  again,  Marget  Land 
and  Anna  Darcy,  Daniel  and  the  phaeton,  the 
forest,  Sweet  Rocket  and  Alder  and  the  train  to 
be  met.  But  each  time  the  sheath  thinned  and 
there  was  left  stronger  light. 

The  train  came,  the  friends  embraced.  Anna 
Darcy  looked  from  window  at  Marget  and  then 
at  Alder,  the  fields  and  hills  and  rivers  and 
mountains.  The  train  roared  through  a  tunnel, 
and  when  it  emerged  the  scenery  was  changed. 
There  were  fields  and  mountains,  but  not  these 
fields  and  mountains.  "And  yet  they  run  into 
those.  There  is  no  impassable  wall  nor  aching 
gulf.  There  are  the  finest  gradations — " 

Marget  and  Daniel  and  the  phaeton  went 
homeward  along  the  Alder  road. 
12 


XXI 

IV  TOVEMBER  rains  wrapped  Sweet  Rocket. 
1  ^  November  winds  rocked  and  bent  the  trees. 
The  world  was  gray,  or  iron-gray,  with  rust- 
hued  streakings.  Indoors  they  built  larger  fires. 
It  was  five  days  after  Anna's  departure.  Un- 
less the  storm  held  him  Curtin  was  going  on  the 
morrow.  In  January  his  profession  would  take 
him  abroad,  to  the  nearer  East.  He  could  not 
tell  when  he  would  be  returning. 
"But  Sweet  Rocket  goes  with  me!" 
"Just.  As  all  the  East  and  you  flow  here." 
"What  kind  of  a  general  world  are  we  com- 
ing into,  Linden?  What  kind  of  a  political, 
social,  economic  world?  I  believe  that,  as  to 
much  of  it,  Robert  and  Frances  are  far  seeing. 
In  the  large,  those  changes  are  upon  us,  and  in 
the  large  they  are  for  the  better.  They  are 
built  into  the  road  we  are  going.  I  agree,  I 
welcome!  But  I  would  see  more  completely  if 
I  could." 

Linden,  in  the  cane  chair  by  the  study  window, 
seemed  to  pay  attention  to  the  storm.  At  last 
he  spoke.  "  I  cannot  see  in  detail.  I  think  there 
will  be  a  great  simplification.  Power  out  of  a 

174 


SWEET  ROCKET 

thousand  tortuous  channels  mingling,  running 
broad  and  deep !  There  are  signs  on  every  side. 
The  old  banks  crumble.  The  great  sea  lifts 
other  continents." 

"I  see  everywhere  how  we  are  seeking." 

"Yes.  The  seeker  finds,  the  finder  seeks  on, 
seeks  farther.  The  great  ages  are  ever  the 
seekers." 

"You  would  say  it  is  a  great  age?" 

"Yes.  A  very  great  one.  Who  is  not  in  some 
way  aware  of  it?  This  friction  of  opinion  on 
the  top  is  but  the  wildness  of  the  outermost 
leaves  as  the  strong  wind  blows." 

"And  wherever  I  go  I  shall  find  the  seeking 
and  the  greatness?" 

"The  world  is  One,"  said  Linden. 

The  storm  continued.  Sweet  Rocket  had 
early  supper.  Zinia  and  Mirny,  with  raincoats 
and  a  huge  umbrella,  went  by  the  swaying, 
chanting  orchard  to  their  own  fireside,  to  Sarah 
and  Julia  and  Jim  and  Just  So.  The  Danes  and 
Curtin  and  Drew,  Linden  and  Marget,  sat  or 
moved  about  in  the  old  Sweet  Rocket  parlor. 
They  might  watch  the  storm  from  the  windows, 
or  they  might  sit  by  the  fire.  The  great  wind 
blew  through  Sweet  Rocket  Valley.  They  heard 
the  stream  rushing,  and  the  trees  had  a  voice,  as 
though  they  had  taken  foot  out  of  ground  and 
were  now  a  herd.  The  rain  was  driven  against 
the  panes,  and  the  wind  hurled  dead  leaves  with 
the  rain.  Wall  and  roof  and  glass  shut  out  the 


SWEET  ROCKET 

physical  rain,  but  the  psychical  man  cognized 
it  far  and  near,  rain  since  the  world  began. 
And  the  fire  also,  and  the  warm  room,  and  they 
in  company  listening  to  the  storm.  The  momen- 
tary outlines  shifted.  There  fell  a  sense  of  hav- 
ing done  this  times  and  times  and  times,  a  sense 
of  hut  and  cave,  so  often,  so  long,  in  so  many 
lands,  that  there  was  a  feel  of  eternity  about  it. 
Rain  and  the  cave  and  the  fire,  and  the  inner 
man  still  busied  with  his  destiny!  There  was 
something  that  awed  in  the  perception  that  ran 
from  one  to  another,  that  held  them  in  a  swift, 
shimmering  band.  "How  old — how  old!  How 
long  have  we  done  this?" 

The  rhythm  of  the  storm,  the  rhythm  of  the 
room,  the  rhythm  of  the  fire,  passed  into  a  vast, 
still  sense  of  ordered  movement.  "Of  old,  and 
now,  and  to-morrow — everywhere  and  all  time — 
until  we  return  above  time  and  place,  and  divi- 
sion is  healed." 

They  felt  a  lightness,  a  detachment.  The 
spirit  soared  with  the  mind  and  made  it  look. 

"There  is  the  natural  man  and  there  is  the 
spiritual  man.  That  last  finds  himself  in  all 
selves,  and  all  selves  in  him.  There  is  the  spirit- 
ual man,  and  there  is  the  divine  man  who  works 
with  power.  Both  are  words  of  inclusion.  It 
is  to  leave  the  old  small  I  for  the  spiritual  I, 
and  it  is  to  transcend  the  last  and  enter  that 
which  is  above.  Then  is  left  the  shrunken  pond 
for  the  ocean!  Only  we  say  it  upside  down.  It 

176  ' 


SWEET  ROCKET 

is  the  ocean  that  overflows  and  drinks  up  the 
pond." 

"When  God  enters  life  there  will  still  be 
said  I?" 

"Otherwise,  still  pond  and  ocean,  still  separa- 
tion! Who  shall  lose  his  life  here  shall  find  it. 
But  never  sink  to  thinking  that  it  is  what  in  the 
past  we  have  meant  when  we  said  I!  When 
God  enters  how  shall  he  not  say  I?  But  it  is 
the  ocean  now  that  speaks!  The  pond  is  gone." 

They  sat  still,  and  the  fire  played  and  leaped. 

Through  the  night  the  rain  beat  and  the  wind 
blew,  but  at  dawn  it  cleared.  There  was  wreck- 
age about  the  world,  but  life  laughed  and  took 
her  wreckage  and  built  with  it  anew.  Valley, 
hills,  and  mountains  gleamed  like  precious 
stones.  Navies  of  clouds  rode  for  a  while,  then 
melted  into  the  deep  azure.  The  upper  sea 
hung  so  calm  and  clear  that  down  through  it 
to  the  earth  bottom  ran  light  that  seemed 
intenser  than  the  light  of  every  day. 

Curtin  said  good-by,  and  went.  Marget  and 
Linden  drove  him  to  Alder. 

The  river  ran  swollen,  the  road  lay  deep  in 
leaves,  few  leaves  now  on  the  trees.  The  trees 
stood  still  in  vast  ranks.  They  seemed  to  be 
holding  something,  to  be  turning  it  over  in  mind. 
There  flashed  across  Curtin,  "Who  lifts,  all 
lifts." 

"Yes!"  said  Marget,  beside  him,  as  though 
he  had  spoken. 

177 


SWEET  ROCKET 

It  was  what  he  carried  with  him  from  this 
valley. 

Linden  and  Marget  drove  home  through  the 
wood.  "  How  still  it  is !  Barring  foot  and  wheel 
on  the  wet  leaves  you  would  say  there  was  no 
stir.  We  are  passing  pine  trees.  How  fragrant ! ' ' 

"A  bluebird  is  watching  us  from  a  maple. 
Now  here  is  the  great  beech.  It  holds  its  leaves, 
though  they  are  brown  and  curled  upon  them- 
selves like  cocoons.  The  ground  underneath  is 
clean  and  brown.  A  grapevine  goes  over  and 
up  with  those  young  trees.  There  are  yet 
bunches  of  grapes  and  they  hang  so  still !  There 
are  brown  loops  for  swings  for  all  the  forest 
children,  whether  they  be  Indians  or  dryads  and 
fauns." 

"I  see  them,"  said  Linden,  "all  the  graceful, 
tawny  forest  children!" 

"Here  is  the  oak  glade  with  the  grass  yet 
green  far  down  it,  to  where  hangs  the  purple 
curtain.  The  outstanding  great  roots  glisten, 
and  the  moss  holds  the  water  drops.  You  see 
a  long  way.  Yonder  is  tree  trunk  and  stone, 
light  and  shadow,  that  looks  like  a  hermit's  cell. 
It  is  an  alley  for  the  whole  Middle  Ages  to  come 
riding  down — for  a  paladin  to  come  riding  down, 
the  Red  Cross  Knight,  or  Guyon,  or  Galahad,  or 
Parsifal — or  it  might  be  Robin  Hood  in  Lincoln 
green!" 

"I  see." 

"Here  are  green  brier  and  red  dogwood  berries, 
178 


SWEET  ROCKET 

and  witch-hazel  with  dull  gold  fingers.    Can  you 
hear  the  water?" 

"Yes.    Three  silver  threads  of  it,  like  a  lute ! " 

"The  day  is  a  castle  and  a  church,  the  day  is 
a  city  and  a  star!  Now  we  pass  the  great  rock 
and  the  two  hemlocks,  like  cathedral  spires. 
Here  are  the  little  oaks,  and  there  is  a  guess  of 
crimson  about  them  yet.  The  birch  and  the 
hickory  and  the  tall  oaks,  and  the  tops  are  far 
and  fine  and  melt  into  the  sky — " 

They  came  down  to  the  river,  and  crossed. 
"The  light  washes  the  pillars,  the  cedars  are 
little  earth  clouds.  The  arch  of  the  sky  has 
none,  it  springs  clear  blue.  Music  of  home!" 

' '  Yes .     Music  of  home ! ' ' 

After  supper,  with  Robert  and  Frances  and 
Drew  they  watched  the  fire.  "Anna  sends  the 
city  to  us,  and  Curtin  sends  the  rush  of  the  train 
and  the  flying  scenery.  As  we  send  this  place 
and  this  mood  and  this  thought  to  the  city  and 
the  train!" 

The  violin  bow  drew  across  the  strings. 
Frances  played,  and  love  and  release  filled  the 
ancient  room.  The  world  entered  into  harmony. 

The  next  day  rose  gray  pearl.  Linden  and 
Drew  went  with  the  woodcutters.  Marget  sat 
at  her  typewriter  in  the  study.  Robert  and 
Frances  took  a  long  walk.  Three  days,  and  they, 
too,  must  go  cityward.  Now  they  walked  by 
the  Alder  road,  and  at  the  great  pine  took  the 
Rock  Mountain  trail. 

179 


SWEET  ROCKET 

The  pearly  light  filled  the  forest  like  a  water. 
All  sound  lay  subdued.  When  a  stone  rolled 
underfoot  it  was  not  loudly;  when  a  branch 
broke  it  was  with  a  slow,  deliberate,  musing 
voice.  When  they  saw  a  wild  thing,  the  wild 
thing  had  no  motion  of  flight,  but  pottered  stilly 
on  upon  its  business,  of  the  time.  "We  are  far 
away!  We  have  crossed  to  another  land.  It  is 
as  though  we  died,  and  this  is  the  quiet  ground 
where  we  take  our  reckoning  before  we  find 
another  busy  world.  Oh,  a  busy  world  in  each 
of  us,  and  a  quiet  land!" 

They  rested  upon  a  bowlder  half  sunken  in 
brown  leaves.  "There  is  a  touch  of  eternity 
about  this  day.  .  .  .  Yet  in  five  days  how  busy 
a  world  for  you  and  me!" 

"Yet  I  love  that  as  I  love  this.  How  happy 
that  we  are  so  rich!" 

They  sat  still  on  the  gray  bowlder  in  the  gray 
wood  in  the  pearl-gray  air.  Minutes  passed. 
A  bird  flew  across  the  path,  a  gray  squirrel  ran 
up  an  oak.  "Something  is  coming  down  the 
trail." 

The  something  proved  to  be  a  man  on  horse- 
back. The  intervening  boughs,  branches,  twigs, 
made  him  to  be  seen  like  a  horseman  behind  a 
great  window  filled  with  small,  leaded  panes. 
He  came  close,  and,  seeing  them,  drew  rein. 
"Good  day!" 

"Good  day!" 

"From  Sweet  Rocket?" 
1 80 


SWEET  ROCKET 

"Yes,  from  Sweet  Rocket." 

"Do  I  speak  to  Mr.  Linden?  My  name  is 
Smith — Malcolm  Smith  from  the  Reserve  on 
Rock  Mountain." 

Robert  gave  their  names.  Mr.  Smith  said: 
"Have  you  ever  seen  a  stiller  day?  It  is  one 
of  the  still  days  that  set  you  on  new  action. 
I  thought  I  would  ride  over.  I  want  to  see 
Drew,  and  there  is  something  else — " 

After  a  minute  or  two  he  addressed  himself 
again  to  the  path.  "I'll  go  on,  as  I  have  only 
this  afternoon  and  to-night.  I  must  get  back  to 
camp  to-morrow."  He  made  no  doubt,  it  might 
be  noticed,  of  the  hospitality  of  Sweet  Rocket. 
"I  shall  see  you  again?" 

1 '  Yes.     We  shall  turn  presently. ' ' 

They  watched  him  along  the  trail  until,  as 
the  figure  had  entered,  so  it  vanished  from  the 
leaded  window.  They  sat  awhile  longer  in  the 
gray-pearl  world,  and  then  they  rose  and  fol- 
lowed the  horseman  down  to  Sweet  Rocket. 


XXII 

MALCOLM  SMITH  and  Drew  had  their 
talk,  walking  by  the  river  in  the  still, 
November  dusk.  Drew  said:  "I  was  glad  to 
be  on  Rock  Mountain,  and  after  a  few  months, 
if  you  will  have  me,  I  am  going  there  again. 
But  I  am  glad  that  I  came  here.  I  am  growing 
to  see  that  it  is  not  here  nor  there,  camp  on 
mountain  or  Sweet  Rocket,  that  a  man  goes  to 
find  himself.  But  yet  there  are  helpers.  .  .  . 
There's  a  principle  of  induction,  don't  you  think, 
sir?  Those  who  find  start  a  wave  of  finding. 
The  wave  caught  them,  too.  There  isn't  any 
first  or  last." 

Turning,  they  saw  fire  gleaming  through  the 
window.  "  He  says  that  we  (and  when  he  says 
that  he  means  the  whole  of  us.  When  he  says 
'  I '  it  is  the  other  word  for  '  we.'  It  is  the  Whole 
of  the  many)  are  growing  fast  to-day.  Some- 
times he  says  Evolving  Life,  sometimes  the 
Principle  of  Integration,  or  the  Great  Synthesis. 
He  may  say  Humanity  Awake,  or  Going  Home, 
or  Realizing  Deity,  or  Liberation  in  God,  or 
Becoming  Real,  or  Fulfilling  Want,  or  Recollec- 
tion, or  Union,  or  the  Eternal,  Including  SELF, 

182 


SWEET  ROCKET 

or  Love  at  Last.    He  seems  to  think  that  almost 
any  phrase  will  answer  if  you  know  the  thing." 

Zinia's  bell  rang  from  the  porch  behind  them. 
They  went  in  to  the  pleasant  supper  table,  set 
with  wholesome,  delicate  bread,  and  fragrant 
coffee,  cottage  cheese,  and  baked  apples  and 
cream.  The  table  talk  was  merry  this  evening, 
after  the  dreamy  day.  Supper  over,  all  walked 
out  to  see  the  night,  and  found  it  clearing,  with 
river  banks  of  clouds  and  stars  between  like  lit 
craft  sailing,  sailing.  The  air  breathed  exquis- 
itely mild,  warm  to-night  as  early  October. 
"Let  us  sit  by  the  river  and  watch  awhile." 
They  took  capes  and  coats  and  went  down  to 
where,  before  the  cedars,  was  placed  a  long 
bench.  Sitting  here,  though  no  entire  constella- 
tion was  visible,  yet  they  pieced  out  the  figures. 

They  sat  in  silence,  watching  the  ships  of  the 
universe.  At  last  said  the  visitor:  "I  have 
been  thinking  a  good  deal  about  you  down  here 
by  this  river,  and  about  Drew,  and  of  two  or 
three  things  Mr.  Curtin  said  when  he  was  at 
camp.  So  I  came  down.  I  have  been  think- 
ing a  good  deal.  Look!  there  is  Pleiades,  a 
magic  island  in  a  sea.  I  have  had  my  inklings 
of  the  way  currents  arise  in  this  world.  Let's 
grant  that  it  is  a  universe  of  thought  and  will 
and  feeling,  and  that,  from  ignoring  as  much  as 
we  could  that  fact,  and  then  from  wondering 
about  it,  and  then  from  in  some  wise  earning  it, 
we  begin  to  be  it — " 

183 


SWEET  ROCKET 

"Just,"  said  Linden.     "Well?" 

The  other  continued,  "Once,  when  I  was  re- 
covering from  an  illness,  I  found  or  was  found  by 
— and  I  don't  suppose  the  expressions  matter — " 

"No.  They  are  distinctions  without  a  dif- 
ference." 

"Once,  then,  I  walked  into  a  state  of  con- 
sciousness that  transcended  the  level  that  I  had 
thought  was  the  true  level.  I  was  there  for  it 
might  be  five  seconds  of  our  time.  But  though 
again  in  mass  we  parted,  there  remained  an 
influence — like  one  of  those  rivers  up  there. 
The  world  has  never  since  been  just  the  old 
world.  But  the  main  experience  did  not  repeat 
itself,  though  there  have  been  times  when  I 
have  met  the  shadows  of  it.  Until  the  other 
night.  But  I  will  come  to  that  presently. 
Though  it  was  not  repeated  I  have  known  ever 
since  that  there  is  a  consciousness  as  much  above 
our  usual  one  as  the  latter  is  above  the  ape's. 
A  consciousness  that  it  is  profoundly  desirable 
to  reach.  Before  that  moment  I  was  like  almost 
any  European  of  say  1491.  During  it — for  that 
one  minute — I  was  in  America.  After  it,  though 
I  returned  to  Europe,  I  could  say,  there  is 
America!" 

"Yes.     Just." 

"But  I  had  fallen  out  of  America  and  I  could 
never  get  quite  back,  though  I  often  tried.  And 
then  the  other  night — " 

He  broke  off,  and  seemed  to  ponder  the  sky. 
184 


SWEET  ROCKET 

"I  rode  over  from  Rock  Mountain  because  the 
other  night  I  had,  not  that  first  experience 
again,  but  one  that  was  again  in  America — 
New  America.  From  what  I  have  heard  I  felt 
certain  that  this  place  knows  these  experiences. 
I  wanted  to  compare,  and  be  confirmed.  So 
I  rode  over."  He  was  speaking  to  Linden.  "I 
had  meant  to  ask  to  talk  with  you  alone,  but  I 
see  that  there  is  nothing  here  that  jars  or  makes 
it  difficult.  It's  a  good  place,  this  bench,  with 
the  river  sounding,  and  the  clouds  and  the  stars." 

"There  is  just  ourself  here." 

"I  was  coming  down  from  the  top  of  Rock. 
I  had  had  a  still  twenty  minutes  there,  watching 
the  sunset.  I  had  thought  of  nothing  in  par- 
ticular, only  gathered  rest.  I  was  halfway 
down  when  this  torrent  rose  and  overtook  me. 
I  stood  still.  I  remember  a  pine  tree,  and  be- 
yond that  a  great  wash  of  sky.  But  I — I  was 
in  the  torrent  that  now  seemed  Ocean,  and  now 
seemed  Air,  and  now  was  Fire.  The  combina- 
tion called  Malcolm  Smith  was  gone  into  that, 
like  rain  into  sea  or  a  candle  flame  into  sun. 
And  yet — and  that  was  the  miracle  of  it — there 
was  an  I,  only  it  was  oceanic,  only  it  was  the 
sun!  It  held  in  a  sheaf,  it  sucked  out  pith  and 
marrow  of  all  the  small  'me's*  in  creation,  and 
soared  and  rang,  an  All-Person.  But  what  are 
words?  If  I  could  give  you  that  sense — " 

"Perhaps  you  do.  As  long  ago  we  developed 
gesture  in  order  faintly  to  understand  and  be 

185 


SWEET  ROCKET 

at  one,  and  then  developed  speech,  so  now  the 
Will  within  is  propelling  and  the  Will  within  is 
receiving  these  mightier  waves.  I  feel  what  you 
would  give.  Goon."  '•',-• 

"If  I  could  find  the  words!  I  passed  into  a 
subtle  consciousness  that  went  everywhere,  and 
all  our  old  time  became  space  to  it.  There  was 
motion,  as  of  all  the  winds  of  the  world  brought 
into  one  current — only  nor  air  nor  fire  is  swift 
enough,  vast  enough!  And  yet  you  would  say 
'Quietude.'  .  .  .  All  the  movements  of  our  world 
penetrated,  understood,  furthered — all  the  honey 
fields,  all  the  bees,  all  the  hives — and  Valhalla 
and  Olympus  and  Paradise,  where  the  honey 
is  eaten!  And  it  is  all  a  figure,  but  what  will 
you  have!  I  can  but  stammer.  I  have  seen 
home." 

He  rose,  and  walked  up  and  down  beneath 
the  cedars.  "I  talk  about  it  so  calmly,  and  yet 
all  that  I  ever  believed  or  hoped,  all  that  I  ever 
thought  or  felt  or  did,  is  babyhood  to  that !  I 
am  patient,  and  that  astonishes  me;  I  who  am 
back  at  Malcolm  Smith!" 

"You  are  not  wholly  back.  The  rising 
pendulum  swings,  but  now  a  great  part  of  you 
is  above  the  old,  lower  range.  And  at  the  last 
not  anticipation,  but  reality,  not  light  of  home, 
but  home!" 

The  river  sounded,  the  stars  shone  in  the  upper 
rivers  with  the  cloud  banks.  The  clouds  made 
rivers,  but,  the  clouds  dissolved,  there  were  no 

1 86 


SWEET  ROCKET 

more  rivers,  but  Ocean,   but  Space,   but  the 
Eternal  Fire! 

"It  is  all  I  have  to  tell,"  said  Smith.  "It 
sank  with  long  reverberations,  and  there  was 
the  pine  tree,  and  the  camp  below,  and  Malcolm 
Smith." 

They  sat  in  silence.  At  last,  said  Linden: 
"America  is  a  term  of  vastness.  They  who  ad- 
ventured there  and  arrived  found  all  manner  of 
experience,  but  all  in  America.  They  sailed  in 
many  crafts — and  yet  in  the  end  all  were  as  one 
ship,  all  being  for  America.  They  landed  north 
or  south,  in  varying  climes;  they  stayed  by  the 
sea  or  went  toward  the  mountains,  but  all  in 
America.  They  met  with  great  variety  in  ad- 
venture, the  land  being  so  vast  and  so  rich  in 
might,  but  all  was  American  adventure.  .  .  . 
So  it  is,  I  hold,  with  the  New  America,  the  New 
World  now  lighting  the  horizon.  It  resounds 
and  flames  thus  to  this  one,  and  thus  to  the 
other  one.  But  it  resounds  and  flames.  The 
Great  Symphony  takes  in  all  the  music.  Feel 
it  as  you  can,  know  it  as  you  can!  In  propor- 
tion as  you  draw  the  breath  of  the  All,  compari- 
sons become  odious.  You  have  access  as  I  have 
access.  Enter  by  the  door  of  your  inner  nature ! ' ' 

"A  new  man  is  born?" 

"Yes.  Everywhere.  Including  and  tran- 
scending men.  Men  fading  into  Man,  men  left 
behind.  Man  moving  toward  his  full  Conscious- 
ness. What  in  prophecy  we  have  called  Christ." 

187 


SWEET  ROCKET 

They  watched  the  clouds  and  the  stars,  and 
they  saw,  each  of  them,  a  new  Country  that  was 
fair  and  strong  and  keen  and  glowing.  .  .  . 

At  last  they  rose  and  went  back  to  the  house, 
and  by  the  fire  listened  to  the  violin. 


XXIII 

DAY  rose  in  sapphire,  tranquil,  pure,  still 
and  sunny,  white  smoke  going  straight  up 
from  morning  fires.  Malcolm  Smith,  mounting 
his  horse,  turned  again  to  his  mountain.  Sweet 
Rocket  bade  him  good-by,  but  Linden  and  Mar- 
get  said,  "All  who  come  together  in  this  con- 
sciousness part  no  more!" 

"I  believe  that." 

He  rode  away,  and  in  the  afternoon  was  back 
with  his  work.  But  the  inner  eye  might  view, 
between  mountain  and  Sweet  Rocket,  a  shim- 
mering, ethereal  highway,  a  nerve,  as  it  were, 
thrown  from  space  to  space,  joining  and  making 
one. 

Robert  and  Frances  and  Marget,  on  this  last 
day  of  the  Danes'  visit,  walked  to  the  hill  with 
the  solitary  tree  atop.  The  sapphire  day  con- 
tinued, quiet  and  sunny,  the  air  being  of  an 
extreme  fineness  charged  with  light.  Far  and 
near  the  mountains  made  a  cup  of  amethyst. 
Fields  and  hillsides  at  hand  were  a  lighted 
umber.  They  saw  long  rows  of  stacked  corn, 
and  in  the  meadows  hayricks.  Beyond  the 
orchard  they  made  out  the  steep  roof  of  the 
13  189 


SWEET  ROCKET 

great  barn.  There  were  corn  and  wheat  for 
the  mill,  there  were  stored  apples.  In  the  wood 
below  them  they  heard  the  woodman's  ax. 

"I  can  see,"  said  Robert  Dane,  "I  can  see 
that  Humanity  is  mastering  its  own  organism. 
I  see  that  it  is  lifting  toward  Unitary  Conscious- 
ness. Here,  now,  in  this  present  year  as  in  past 
years,  each  year  now  with  greater  momentum. 
Reaction  and  recoil,  of  course — but  back  again, 
and  farther!  Everywhere  shows  the  swift  inter- 
approach.  All  over,  all  through,  America,  Eu- 
rope, Asia,  Africa,  Australia,  and  the  islands  of 
the  sea.  The  revolutions  of  our  day  are  woven 
of  it.  We  are  leaving  separation  and  partial- 
ness,  fortress  and  dungeon." 

"Yes.  All  our  'movements'  rush  into  the 
one.  All  our  vortices  approach  with  a  fearful 
joy  the  Great  Vortex.  The  Correlation  will  be 
established,  the  Summation  made.  We  go  to 
join  and  strengthen  the  Ancient  Heavens.  The 
Ancient  of  Days  draws  and  redeems  and  fuses 
and  Ones  another  layer  of  his  being.  Faster  and 
faster  our  age  begins  to  see  what  is  happening. 
The  language  men  use  to  describe  it  does  not 
so  much  matter.  The  poet  names  it  Life,  Beauty, 
and  Joy;  the  scientific  man  says  Knowledge 
and  Use ;  the  philosopher  says  Energy  and  Sub- 
stance in  conscious  union;  the  Hindu  says  the 
SELF;  our  peoples  say  God.  ...  All  one." 

They  came  to  the  hilltop  and  stood  to  look 

about  them.     "There  is  such  joy!"  went  on 

190 


SWEET  ROCKET 

Marget.  "Pain  and  pleasure  outgrown,  now 
blooms  the  joy !  '  Weeping  may  endure  for  a 
night,  but  joy  cometh  in  the  morning/  The 
being  found  and  the  finding.  One  after  another 
lays  hand  upon  that  world,  clings,  braces  him- 
self, draws  himself  up  and  over  and  finds  the 
manna  lying  around  him.  Joy,  wisdom  and 
power !  and  the  taste  of  them  but  begun.  Posses- 
sion still  to  be  possessed — forever  and  forever!" 

They  sat  beneath  the  tree  and  all  around 
sprang  the  valley  and  the  mountains  and  Vir- 
ginia and  the  world.  "Alive — deathlessly  alive!' 
The  valley  and  the  mountains,  Virginia  and  the 
world!" 

Frances  spoke.  "I  know  a  woman  who  speaks 
in  the  terms  of  the  East.  Is  it  the  Principle  of 
Sensibility — the  Buddhic  plane?" 

"Yes.  Atma  is  yet  to  arrive.  What  we  see  is 
the  light  before  his  face.  WTien  he  fully  comes 
that  is  the  Day  of  the  Lord.  What  all  work  has 
been  toward,  all  toil,  all  hoping.  As  Atma  rises  in 
us — as  Christ  rises  in  us — comes  newer  and  richer 
life,  fuller  and  fuller,  inner  powers  and  princi- 
palities, thrones  and  dominions,  and  their  ob- 
jective garments.  But  when  WE  ARE  THE  LORD 
— I  know  not!  There  is  Light  there  that  is  as 
darkness  to  us  yet." 

The  exquisite  valley  heightened  its  values 
throughout,  became  richer.  The  mountains 
around  hung  in  the  eye  like  the  Delectable 
Mountains. 

191 


SWEET  ROCKET 

"If  one  grows,  all  things  and  all  places  grow 
with  that  one?" 

"Inevitably  so!     The  wealth  is  for  all." 

'  The  new  consciousness  that  we  feel  is  a  pale 
film  to  what  will  be?" 

"Yes.  A  borderland,  the  islands  fringing  the 
New  World.  But  such  as  it  is  it  wipes  out  the 
old,  blind,  scattered,  little  consciousnesses.  To 
what  shall  be  felt  and  shall  be  known  it  is  the 
one  leaf  of  green,  it  is  the  olive  leaf  that  the 
dove  brings.  But  before  us  are  enormous 
growth,  strange  and  fair  adventure,  work,  joy, 
love—" 

Through  the  air  they  felt  the  ether,  through 
the  sunlight  they  felt  the  Great  Sun.  Light  and 
warmth  came  to  them  from  the  Sun  behind  the 
sun.  It  touched,  it  passed,  but  each  time  it 
came  they  strengthened. 

That  night  by  the  fire  they  sat  in  silence  that 
was  full  and  rich  and  understanding.  "To- 
morrow night,  here  at  Sweet  Rocket,  just  Rich- 
ard and  Marget  and  Drew — and  all  the  rest 
of  us!" 

The  next  day  dawned,  and  still  it  was  Indian 
summer.  Robert  and  Frances  went  from  place 
to  place,  as  had  gone  Curtin  and  Anna  Darcy, 
saying  farewell.  "We  wish  and  hope  to  bring 
our  bodies  here  again  next  year.  But  if  that  is 
not  done,  still,  still,  still  we  shall  have  Sweet 
Rocket!" 

"You  have  access  now  to  all  places  and  times 
192 


SWEET  ROCKET 

and  peoples.  You  are  through  the  gate,  you 
two!  All  your  good  dreams  now  will  come  true. 
If  not  in  this  way  then  in  that.  Every  dream 
that  does  no  injury  to  the  Whole." 

Richard  and  Marget,  Daniel  and  the  phaeton, 
took  them  to  Alder.  The  still  forest  was  clothed 
to-day  in  purple.  For  much  of  the  way  silence 
held  within  the  phaeton  as  without.  But  it  was 
the  silence  that  Anna  Darcy  had  early  noted. 
It  was  rhythmic,  it  was  thronged,  it  was  fused 
and  made  into  the  richest  solitude. 

"But  such  a  tide  as  moving  seems  asleep, 

Too  full  for  sound  or  foam, 

When  that  which  drew  from  out  the  boundless  deep 
Turns  again  home." 

Now  and  then  they  spoke.  Once  Robert  said, 
abruptly,  "And  all  the  effort  of  the  world  is  to 
stand  and  grow  in  grace?" 

"Just.  All  the  effort.  Everywhere!  Whether 
it  be  stone  or  plant  or  animal  or  man  or  over- 
man. And  where  the  Emerging  Character  is  so 
mighty  none  is  to  despise  his  brother's  path  or 
rate  of  speed.  Once  it  was  his  own.  Every- 
thing has  been  and  is  our  own.  Work!  but  who 
hates  or  despises  halts  and  weakens  the  effort." 

"But  work!" 

"Yes,  steadily.  In  all  realms.  'What  thy 
hand  findeth  to  do,  do  with  thy  might.'  What 
thy  judgment  findeth  to  do.  The  other  name  of 
Lubber  Land  was  Good  Enough." 

193 


SWEET  ROCKET 

They  came  to  Alder  with  its  churches  and 
sere  gardens  lying  in  violet  light.  Here  was  the 
little  station — in  a  few  moments  they  heard  the 
train. 

"Good-by!" 

"Good-by!" 

Frances  and  Robert  looked  through  the  car 
window.  The  platform  had  men,  women,  and 
children  upon  it.  Two  or  three  arriving  travel- 
ers found  friends  to  meet  them;  there  were  the 
workers  about  the  station  and  the  loafers,  with 
country  folk  and  village  folk  brought  by  some 
business,  and  in  the  throng  Richard  Linden  and 
Marget  Land.  Just  the  usual  village  station. 
Then  all  of  it  sprang  into  light,  into  music, 
into  significance,  into  importance.  The  train 
moved.  There  was  a  cry  of  "Good-by!  Come 
again!"  All  seemed  to  enter  into  it,  to  cry  it 
out. 

The  houses  went  by,  the  village  street,  the 
hills,  the  river,  and  all,  all,  and  this  train  upon 
which  they  found  themselves  had  color  and 
music  and  significance  and  importance. 

"The  I  that  says  of  every  living  thing,  'It  is 
I,'  says  it  and  means  it  and  understands  it  and 
proceeds  to  live  from  it,  says  it  of  the  total 
objective,  and  so  takes  the  objective  up  into  the 
Subject — that  I  is  over  the  verge  of  the  old  into 
the  New—" 

The  hills  went  by,  the  river  gleamed. 

Marget  and  Richard  traveled  homeward 
194 


SWEET  ROCKET 

through  the  purple  forest.  To-day  they  hardly 
used  the  outer  voice.  The  blind  man  sat  with 
a  smile  upon  his  lips  as  though  he  saw,  with 
such  a  face  as  could  only  have  come  from  much 
seeing.  The  woman,  too,  sat  still,  the  body 
relaxed,  the  spirit  gleaming  in  the  soul.  Daniel 
drew  them  through  the  forest; nor  did  Daniel, 
either,  lack  some  sense  of  growth,  dim  belief  in 
a  higher  world,  dim  will  to  reach  it.  Below 
Daniel  the  forest  felt  that,  and  below  the  forest 
the  rock.  The  utter  stream  of  pilgrims — 


THE   END 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  119  790     4 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

405  Hilgard  Avenue,  Los  Angeles,  CA  90024-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


UAL 

JAN  1  9  1992 


Univej 


Li) 


